Le Visage d'un Fantôme
by Foxcat93
Summary: Based on both the 1925 Lon Chaney silent movie and the LeRoux book, the story begins as Erik just barely escapes a murderous crowd. Where can he go? I have changed the setting to 1910. Rated T for some violence.
1. The Churchyard

_The screaming rabble finally caught me just at the edge of the Seine. My feints with the dagger only held them off for a moment. They began beating me, but adrenaline rushed through my veins and I pulled away from them with a strength I scarce knew I possessed. I made a flying leap off the edge of the parapet into the water far below, for I could go nowhere else. Bent on killing me, the crazed lynch mob, who understood nothing of me, would not have their blood-lust fulfilled tonight._

_I hit the water, diving down, down, many feet, holding my breath, then, after swimming as far as I could without breathing, I headed for the surface. I pulled out my Tonkin pipe, an apparatus which allows me to breathe whilst swimming underwater, albeit near the surface. It would not be discernible in the darkness from so great a distance._

_I neared the far shore after swimming perhaps a mile downstream underwater. I pulled myself up on the rocks on the far side of the Seine. I noted that my hands were bruised and I suspected I was bruised all over, and I began to ache as I raced through the dark alleys. My cloak and all my clothing were soaking wet, but I ran as fast as I could, far away from the mob, hoping they would surmise I had perished in the river._

_I pulled the hood of my cape far over my head to hide my face. I walked several hours until I reached the edge of town. I relaxed a bit as I saw the rural area before me. I continued to walk through the night for at least another two hours. Still I walked, becoming weary, but afraid to stop for I needed to travel as far away from the city as I could._

_I realized I was very thirsty and saw a well. I sent the bucket down to fetch some water, drew it up and dipped the tin cup in it. I finished the cup and was dipping it again when a young woman from a cottage nearby ran over to me. _

"_Monsieur," she said, in friendly greeting. I quickly pulled the hood down over my face but she must have caught a glimpse in the moonlight. She started screaming wildly and ran toward the cottage, crying as she ran, "Un fantôme horrible!." I took to my heel and ran as quickly as the wind. I slowed down to a walk again, stopping to rest infrequently and avoiding any human contact._

_I was becoming exhausted. I reached some steps leading down to a road, but my exhaustion was to be my downfall, literally. I missed a step and fell down the rest of them. When I attempted to arise, a searing pain in my right ankle stopped me. I crawled across the gravel road, hoping no horse, carriage or motor car would pass by and see me or trample me._

_I reached the other side and rested for a moment. Then I continued on, crawling painfully. Where? I could not say. I tried to pull myself upright, but almost immediately I fell, for the ankle would not hold my weight. I crawled a few more yards, hot pain shooting through the ankle whenever I moved it. I could feel the foot was becoming swollen and I knew the ankle must be broken. And I began to realize that I would not be able to go much further._

_A few yards more and I was at the top of a small rise. There were cottages in the distance. I could see quite well, for there was a full moon. But atop this rise was a small church yard. A few mausoleums and tomb stones were visible. I sat down painfully in the grass, my back against a tomb stone. I would be safe here, the dead were the only ones who did not run from me screaming, for I resembled them._

_I did not want to be discovered by anyone who might come upon me and finish what the mob had started, so I pulled out the satin mask that I always carried with me in an inner pocket of the cloak. The mask was black on the outside lined with white satin on the inside which fit against my face. It was made of a rectangle of material which had two eye holes sewn into it and tied about my forehead on the top and about my throat on the bottom. My black opera cap fit comfortably over the top of my head and held the mask on. I carried it at all times when I was away from my home._

_My clothes were still a bit damp and smelled dank and fishy. An intensely cold breeze came up and I began to shiver. In the moonlight, I looked again at the bruises on my hands where the crowd had attacked me and I began to be more aware of the pain from the beating. I began to shake uncontrollably. I pulled my damp cloak about me. An illness seemed to come over me. I felt dizzy and nauseated. I closed my eyes, but could not shut out the thoughts of the last few weeks. I must have gone into delirium. At this moment, I wanted only to die, to leave my wretched existence behind. I remembered nothing more._

* * *

><p>The sunlight was bright. It was early afternoon and Rémy Tessier was playing, a short distance from his home. His tutor had completed his lessons early today, and he was enjoying the warm day as he played by himself. One of his favourite games was to play make believe in the churchyard, where no one would stop him from shrieking, running and jumping in his play. His active imagination led him to create many fearsome beasts and foes of all kinds to defeat and become the hero.<p>

Rémy's mother told him not to wander far, but he rarely listened to that rule. And he always came back on time, so she never worried.

Rémy played his favourite game of being chased by a huge lion. He had a wooden sword that he aimed at the imaginary beast. He lunged and parried with the toy sword, then retreated backward...and fell over something. It was a large tree branch laying on the ground. He stood up, then jumped in fright, when he saw a figure dressed in black, sitting against a tombstone.

Rémy, the brave little boy with the huge imagination, pointed his sword at the figure and cried loudly, "En garde, Monsieur!" The figure groaned and moved a bit.

_Coming out of my swoon, I opened my eyes, startled a bit at a loud cry just in front of me. I could see a child with a wooden sword pointed at me, but in my delirium, it made little impression on my brain. My head hurt unbearably and my ankle shot fierce white-hot pain through my leg. I could barely move._

_I forced my eyes to focus a bit on the small figure before me. Yes, I wanted to die, but conversely I also wanted to live._

"_Child," I said, in a weak voice,"Would you be able to bring me some water?"_

"_Monsieur?" asked the child. "Are you alive?"_

"_Yes, for now..." I answered. "Please could you bring me some water?"_

_The child seemed to come to his senses and ran off without a word. I closed my eyes again and leaned my head against the tombstone behind me. I touched it and said, "I fear I shall be joining you soon, my friend..."_


	2. Eyes Like a Lion

Rémy ran home quickly and found the cook, Nicole, in the kitchen, preparing lunch. A pretty girl of seventeen, she was almost still a child herself. Her demeanour was as sunny as her golden hair.

"Rémy, where have you been?" she asked. "Your mother has been asking after you. It is time for your lunch."

"Please, Nicole, may I take my lunch with me and eat outside?"

"Yes, I will tell your mother so. But do not wander far, child..."

Rémy smiled and nodded. He took the food and ran off again. Nicole smiled as she saw him bring up water from the well and dip a cup of it. The child was very engaging...his straight blond hair and blue eyes, along with the dimples when he smiled, which was often, gave him an appearance which charmed most adults. He was well behaved too, but had an amazing imagination. Sometimes it was hard to tell what was real and what was not in his descriptions of his adventures.

_I felt a tugging at my cape and my eyes fluttered open once again. I had no idea how much time had passed, but the small boy I had seen or perhaps imagined appeared before me again._

"_Monsieur," he said. "I have brought you water and some food also..."_

"_Merci, child." Even in my bad state, I made sure my mask covered my face at all times. It was dry now. I unfastened the neck ties and drank the water behind the mask._

_I ate the food and felt a bit stronger, at least my mind began to clear. I looked at the child who appeared to be about 8 years old. He sat on a stone close to where I was sitting._

"_My name is Rémy, Monsieur...what is your name?"_

"_Thank you, Rémy, for your kindness. I have no name..." The child paused, thinking about that._

"_Monsieur, why do you wear a mask over your face? Are you a ghost?"_

_I laughed a bitter laugh. "It would be better that you do not know."_

"_Do you feel better, Monsieur? My mother is un m__é__decin,...I can bring her here if you wish. But if you are a ghost, she could not help you."_

_I laughed again, but not so bitterly. The boy was concerned about me, but surely he would not be if he had caught a glimpse of my face. I re-tied the lower part of the mask about my neck. I saw him studying my mask._

"_Your eyes are yellow, like a lion...are you a lion, Monsieur?"_

"_Perhaps, R__é__my, perhaps. I spotted a sturdy branch nearby on the ground. _

"_Will you hand me that branch? I should be on my way..." _

_The child handed me the branch, but I could not stand. I was too weak and my ankle felt as if it were on fire.. I sank to the ground again in pain and dismay._

"_I shall call my mother and Jacques to come and help you..." The child ran off before I could stop him. I wanted desperately to be somewhere that no one could find me or see me..._

* * *

><p>"Maman! Maman!" Rémy knocked at the door that separated the living quarters of the home from his mother's surgery.<p>

Émilie Tessier opened the door. " Rémy, what did I tell you about interrupting when I am with a patient?"

"But, Maman, someone else needs your help!"

"Who is it?"

"He has no name, Maman."

She knelt down to his height. She smiled. Sometimes his imagination got the better of her little son. "Rémy, please, sit down and we will speak about it when I am finished with my consultation."

Rémy sat down obediently. After what seemed an eternity, Émilie reappeared. "Now, Rémy, what is it that you want me to do? You say someone needs my help...are they ill?"

"Yes, Maman. There is someone in the churchyard who is ill. I took him my lunch."

"That was very kind of you, Rémy. This person is in the churchyard, you say?"

"Oui, Maman. And he is hurt." Émilie was starting to believe her son when he added, "He is a lion and maybe a ghost."

She closed her eyes momentarily. Then she sat down and motioned to her son. " Rémy, you know I am very busy. I truly want to believe you...are you positive this is not of your imagination...it is real?"

"Oui, Maman, please believe me..."

"All right, Rémy. Call Jacques and tell him to bring out the wagon. We will go to the churchyard."

* * *

><p><em>I had fallen asleep again but it gave little relief to the pain raging in my ankle and my head. Additionally, I was finding it hard to breathe. My chest was tight and every painful breath sounded raspy. Even in my troubled sleep I was aware of the sound of my own breath. I came awake slowly as I heard a horse's hooves and the rattle of a wooden wagon.<em>

_A woman and a large, powerful looking man alit, followed by the child who had spoken to me earlier. The child had kept his promise. I was falling into delirium and made no protest as the man picked me up and laid me gently in the back of the wagon, on some blankets covering soft straw. I do not remember much more until I awoke fully… they tell me it was two days hence._


	3. The Unknown Stranger

"Rémy," said his mother. "I should not doubt you again, although your descriptions are imaginative."

They took the stranger to the guest bedroom and Jacques laid him on the bed. She put pillows under his leg and had Marie chip some ice from the large block keeping the ice box cold. She made ice packs and put them on his ankle. The stranger seemed somewhat delirious. The docteur did what she could to make him comfortable, returning to her other patients. She asked Jacques Gagnon to remove the stranger's clothing and to have his wife, Marie, the maid, wash them. She asked Jacques to find some of her late husband's clothing for the stranger to wear in the meantime.

As soon as Émilie had completed her last appointment, she went to the stranger's room. Jacques met her just outside the room. "I have done as you asked, Madame Tessier. The stranger's clothing has been exchanged for clean clothing and Marie is laundering his own clothes. But...Madame..."

"Yes, Jacques?" Jacques was a large, lumbering man, slow to think, and of a superstitious and suspicious nature.

"The stranger...he will not let me remove his mask. I thought he was asleep, but when I touched it, his eyes flew open and he grabbed my wrists with an iron grip. He bade me never to touch it. He allowed me to replace the rest of his clothing, but...Madame...it is very strange..."

"Tell me, Jacques...what is strange?"

"His skin is all of an ashen hue. He frightens me..."

"It may be an illness, Jacques."

"And Madame,"

"What else, Jacques?"

"He has marks on his back, indeed all over, that speak of a beating...perhaps he is a criminal..."

"We cannot think ill of this stranger; we know nothing of him. Thank you for telling me about it though, Jacques, and for all your help. Let Nicole know to prepare some warm soup for our guest."

"Yes, Madame."

Émilie picked up her medical bag and knocked on the door of the guest room. She entered when there was no answer. The thin, gaunt stranger was sleeping, covered by a sheet and blanket, wearing one of her late husband's night shirts. His face was still shrouded by the black satin mask. The bottom of the mask was untied. The upper part was tied about the top of his head, which was still covered by an opera cap.

Hoping not to awaken the stranger, Émilie pulled up the bottom of the sheet where his foot was propped on the pillows. She removed the ice packs and examined his ankle. He moaned perceptibly when she touched it, but he did not awaken. The ankle was very swollen and discoloured and his skin did indeed appear to be of a strange ashen colour. She saw bruising on his hands and arms.

Émilie checked his pulse which was slow, but steady and noted his long slender, almost skeletal fingers, and again, the ashen colour of his skin. The pallour could be due to anaemia, she speculated.

Émilie listened to his chest with her stethoscope, and heard the rattling in his lungs. Thinking to make it easier for him to breathe, she pulled the mask to the side, then her hand jerked involuntarily, she inhaled audibly and her eyes became wide. She pulled the mask over his face again. He moaned a bit, but thankfully he did not awaken.

She pulled up the opera cap and felt his forehead. He was burning with fever. She put a cool compress on his forehead. She then set his ankle.

Dr Tessier knew that he must have caught cold from the exposure and feared it would turn to pneumonia. She gave him an injection of laudanum for pain. She mixed a powder with water to bring down the fever. But he needed to be awake to drink it.

"Monsieur, Monsieur, please wake up..." She shook him gently. Finally the stranger awoke.

"Where am I?" he said groggily. "And who are you?"

"You are in my home, Monsieur. I am a physician. My son found you in the churchyard."

"Yes..." The stranger tried to raise his head, but sank down upon the pillow, groaning again. "What is wrong with me?"

"You have a broken ankle, Monsieur and you have caught cold from exposure. I do not know how long you were outside."

"You have a fever and your lungs do not sound well. I have prepared a powder for you to help take down the fever. I have given you an injection for pain. Let me put some pillows behind you so you can drink this..."

The stranger turned away from her as he drank the medicine and she could not see his face even though he pulled the mask aside momentarily.

"Monsieur, my servant Jacques changed your clothes for clean ones...he tells me you have some marks on your back...some of them are open and should be washed. I have a salve for them..." The stranger acquiesced and turned on his side for Émilie to look at his back. It looked raw and sore in several places. She took care of the wounds. She noticed he was so thin that his spine was clearly evident as were his ribs.

Émilie asked if he were hungry. He shook his head and she told him she would be back later to check on him. She turned off the gas light and closed the door.

Later, Émilie brought the stranger some warm soup. She wondered how he would eat with the mask on, but he bade her politely to leave the room as he wished to eat alone. When she returned, the soup had not been touched and the stranger was asleep.

_I remember very little of the first few days I spent in the home of Émilie Tessier, as I found was the name of the kind docteur. It all seems as if a dream. Later however, I discovered that Rémy was her son. Her servants seemed afraid of me. I was used to that and I said nothing. I guarded my secret carefully, for I knew that if any of them took even one glance...I had seen it happen too many times before. Even my own mother..._

_I knew I would eventually have to go, go somewhere else, I did not know where. Even so, I was content to stay with these good people, wary though I was of them, indeed of every person I ever came in contact with except...except the one who had broken my heart... From now on, I determined never to reveal myself to anyone, not my inner self, certainly not my dark secret._

_I had not even told them my name. No one even enquired after my identity until one day as I was recovering..._


	4. Émilie and the Stranger

Émilie was a tall, slender woman in her early thirties with curly blonde hair which she kept demurely pinned up on her head. Her grey eyes were intelligent and friendly. In the Edwardian fashion of 1910, she wore a white blouse that was man-styled with a removable high collar and a bit of blousiness in the front. She wore a man-styled tie of blue satin and a slim skirt to her ankles of the same hue. Her small women's pocket watch hung from a pin on her bodice.

"You have not told any of us your name, Monsieur," said Émilie, a few days later, when the stranger had recovered enough to sit at the table in the dining room for meals. "I have not formally introduced myself either...I am Dr Tessier, Émilie Tessier."

"How did you come to be a docteur, Madame Tessier?"

"I am a widow, Monsieur. I came to be a physician after seeing the suffering of many people and I longed to be able to help them. I was fortunate to come from a wealthy family and they supported me in my venture to enter medicine. I enrolled at the University and emerged with a degree, and a marriage with one of my colleagues. Rémy Tessier, my young son Rémy's father. Rémy loved and trusted me implicitly, but many do not trust me to be intelligent enough to do the work of a physician, for I am a mere woman." She said this last with a hint of sarcasm.

"My studies consisted of not only the usual medical classes, but I have studied psychology as my minor. I must say, however, in my classes at the University and internship at the hospitals, I was quite ahead of some of my male colleagues, which made them perhaps, shall we say...less than happy."

"Fortunately, as I said, my family is wealthy and I have come into an inheritance, so my profession thankfully is not my only means of support. If it were, I should have starved long ago. My practice consists of mostly women, but a few brave men have consented to put their lives in my female hands. I hope you are one of them..."

She could hear the smile in his voice behind the mask. "I have no choice, Madame Docteur...but I must assume you are competent, for I have survived."

Émilie wondered if he were being sarcastic. She paused. "You have not answered my question about your name, Monsieur."

"That is because I have no name."

"Everyone has a name, Monsieur."

"I discarded my birth name many years ago. I wish to have no ties to my family. I am known only as Erik...Erik Lenoir*." It was but one of many names by which the stranger had been known, but there was no need to inform the good docteur of that fact.

Émilie's cook, Nicole, set down a meal, with plain but hearty food. The docteur noticed that Erik kept not only his mask on, with the bottom ties unloosed, but he also wore thin leather gloves. It seemed a bit cumbersome to eat behind the mask, especially with gloves on, but Erik's graceful fingers were used to the task, apparently.

"Would it not be more comfortable to eat without your gloves, Monsieur?" What she really meant was, _Would it not be more comfortable to eat without your mask, Monsieur?_ But having had a glimpse under the mask earlier, she did not wish to upset her guest.

"Perhaps." The stranger removed the gloves. "Do not be alarmed at the colour of my skin, Madame Tessier. I have always been a bit pale." She saw again the strange ashen colour of his skin and that his fingers were very long and skeletally thin, but he moved them with dexterity and grace.

"I must thank you, Madame Tessier, for your kindness and hospitality. You are a most gracious hostess and in addition, I am feeling well. I should have died in the churchyard were it not for your son finding me..."

Erik had a speaking voice that had been described by those who heard it as the "voice of an angel." It was melodious and strong and engaging to listen to.

"You are welcome to stay here as long as you wish, Monsieur Lenoir. But it will take some time before your ankle is healed enough to walk on it for any length of time. I want you to continue to use the crutches I have provided for you...it will be at least six weeks before you are able to put any weight on the ankle. My servants will be at your disposal. Marie and Jacques Gagnon are married and live in rooms on the third floor, and my cook, Nicole Du Vin also has a room on the top floor. So they are here night and day, should you need anything."

Erik had strange yellowish eyes, reminiscent of a cat's eyes, and they were the only part of his face that could be seen through the mask. His feline eyes softened.

"You are truly very kind...I have money, but not with me. I promise I shall send you money once I leave here..."

"I am not concerned about money, Monsieur..."

He touched her hand momentarily with the tips of his skeletal fingers. She did not fear his touch but the coldness of his hand startled her and her hand moved away involuntarily, just the minutest bit.

You pull away from my touch..." said Erik.

"You have very cold hands. It surprised me a bit. Perhaps a warm drink will help."

"Nothing will help. It is my natural state."

They sat in silence for a time as they dined. Émilie was aware of his eyes upon her.

After dinner, Émilie asked, "What do you do for entertainments, Monsieur...I have an extensive library. You are welcome to use it at any time."

"Yes, thank you, Madame." He picked up the crutches the docteur had provided and made his way to the library. She watched him leave. He was thin and of medium height. His movements were graceful, especially his hands. She wondered who he really was...

* * *

><p><strong>*Author's Note: I gave Erik the last name of "Lenoir", which means "the Black" in French. I don't recall him having a last name in the book or the movie, so I thought that he probably used different last names for anonymity.<strong>


	5. Music

Émilie retired to her sitting room and wrote some notes on the day's patients, including Erik. When she finished, she decided to relax by playing some music. She opened the pocket doors to the music room and took her place at the piano.

Émilie began to play a classical piece and before long, realized that she was being accompanied by violin music, as dulcet as she had ever heard. When the piece was finished, Émilie turned and smiled. Erik had quietly come in, picked up her violin, which had lain near the chair he now occupied, and played with a finesse she had never heard before. "That was most beautiful, Monsieur. Are you professionally trained?"

"Oui, Madame."

"Do you play at the opera, Monsieur? Would they not miss you there while you are recovering?"

"No, and I have no wish to explain, Madame. There are things about which I will not speak."

Émilie paused. Erik fingered the violin and plucked the strings idly.

"Monsieur, do you have a place that you call home?"

He laughed, but there was an edge of bitterness to the sound. "At this time, the church yard is the nearest I could call home."

"Is that not a bit macabre?" asked Émilie.

"Perhaps..."

Erik pulled his chair a bit closer to the piano bench. He took Émilie's hand in his and she did not wince from the coldness of it this time. "I hope you will pardon my being so bold as to take your hand," he said, "but I could not help myself. You have been so kind."

His odd yellow eyes softened. "Your playing is a wonderful gift. You must play for me again, and often."

Émilie smiled. "If it should make you well and happy, I would play for you every moment of the day."

"That is a most lovely sentiment," said Erik. "Do you sing, Madame?"

"Yes. I have practised the great classics, including opera. I love great music and have spent hours learning it for simply my own pleasure and those I associate with, but my voice is not of a quality to be able to sing at the grand opera." She paused. "My medical practice is not such that it keeps me busy for many hours of the day," she said with chagrin.

"Are you familiar with the opera "Othello?"

"Yes."

"Can you sing the part of Desdemona? If you can, I shall accompany you as your Othello."

"I would be most pleased, Monsieur."

They began and while Émilie used written music to guide her, Erik sang his part by heart. When they finished, time had passed by as nothing. Émilie looked at her singing stranger with a new respect. His voice was absolutely amazing. She had never heard a man's voice so formidable, so able to pick up on the nuances of emotion in every phrase and so pleasurable to listen to.

Émilie threw down the music and knelt at his feet. She clasped his cold hands in hers. "Monsieur, your voice is wonderful!"

"Your voice is incredible also, but it needs work...you have the talent to become a great opera star!"

"Monsieur, I have no wish to sing publicly...but you...you should sing publicly...I have not heard such a voice even at the Paris Opera!" She stood up and pulled the piano bench closer to Erik and sat down again.

"You are familiar with the Paris Opera?" he asked carefully?

"Yes, I have attended performances there with my husband before his passing. My first love is being a physician, but as I mentioned earlier, I love great music. I have been to the Paris Opera often." She paused. "Have you heard any of the strange stories about the Opera of late?"

"Oh? And of what are you speaking?" came the question, and his voice turned suddenly harsh and suspicious.

"The newspaper had several curious stories concerning the opera, starting some time ago... The Paris Opera, I know this for a fact, has the reputation of being haunted. Have you not heard of that, Monsieur?"

"I have heard rumours. They are of course, whisperings of the ignorant. You do not believe them, do you?"

"I cannot say, for I have not seen anything out of the ordinary when I have visited the Opera. But the newspapers tell a different story. They speak of murders, blackmail and of late, just in the last months, the disappearance of one of the divas. There was also a terrible accident at the Opera wherein a huge crystal chandelier suddenly snapped its rope and tumbled from the ceiling, killing one person and wounding many others who had come to the Opera that night. If the Opera is not haunted, there is still something very strange happening there..."

"Do not believe the gossip you have heard, Madame. Rumours and gossip abound at the Opera. Actors are a superstitious lot. And newspapers are in business to sell newspapers..."

"I have heard so, Monsieur. And the latest will most likely put an end to these rumours in any case. It is said that this mysterious and evil personage was, of late, drowned in the Seine."

"Then that should indeed put an end to the rumours of which you are speaking. As I said, do not listen to such idle talk." He paused.

"Since we have sung together, I shall let you call me Erik. But not in front of anyone else, is that clear?"

"Oui, Monsieur...Erik...and please call me Émilie, except in front of anyone else, you must call me Docteur."

Erik laughed, the first time he had laughed heartily and with mirth in the time he had spent with Émilie and her household. "I shall do so."

"Erik, it is nigh on midnight. I am beginning to feel sleepy, but it is not for want of good conversation or music. I have early appointments in the morning. I shall retire to my upstairs bedroom." She saw him to the door of his room.

"Just one moment..." Erik spoke rather solemnly. "Even though I have been here a while, I must set down rules concerning my time spent under your roof. I must never be disturbed when I have the door closed...And no one must ever touch or remove my mask."

Émilie stood in silence for a moment. "I am afraid it is too late for the last recommendation, Erik..."


	6. Le Visage d'un Fantôme

When Erik discovered that Émilie had glimpsed his face, he became enraged.

"What!" he screamed, his weird eyes livid. "What have you done?" She backed away, shocked at his reaction to her words. This was the first time since he had entered her home that she felt any fear. She momentarily thought of calling for Jacques...

Erik limped the few steps to where Émilie was standing, using only one of his crutches. He took her forcefully by the shoulders, digging his fingers into her arms. "What have you done?" he screamed again. He slammed the door behind her and she was alone in the room with him.

"Take your hands off of me, Erik and I will explain," she said calmly. He removed his hands, which, Émilie saw were actually shaking with rage.

"Sit down and calm yourself." said Émilie. They both sat down, he on the bed and Émilie across from him in a chair. He was still shaking and his eyes looked very strange.

"Erik, when you were brought here, you were unconscious. Your breathing was laboured, so I removed the mask momentarily to see if it would help your breathing, then I replaced it."

"So," he said slowly, his voice low and menacing, "you have seen my secret...why have you said nothing during all the time I have been here?"

"What was there to say, Erik?"

He sat there on the edge of the bed, very still, his yellow eyes livid. He held her glance in his. In an angry voice, he demanded that she come near. "Come here, Madame ...come here, approach me..."

Émilie felt herself doing as he bade, strangely drawn to him against her will, even as her instincts told her to leave his presence immediately. She knelt before him, at his feet. She could not break the gaze of his eyes locked onto hers.

"Now gaze upon my face..." He jerked off the mask and the opera cap, suddenly revealing his true face. It was more horrifying now, even though Émilie had beheld it before, when he had been in repose. Now he was livid and his eyes were animated and angry.

A fringe of black hair grew around the edges of his skull and across the top of his head, giving him a high forehead. Otherwise, he was nearly bald. The effect was made stronger by his complete lack of eyebrows. His odd yellow eyes burned in deep set eye sockets; the skin around them strangely darkened. His high cheek bones protruded and his face was deeply lined. There were two gaping holes where a normal nose would have been: two gaping holes at the end of a cut off stump of a nose. But the worst of all was his mouth: his upper lip somehow was curled inward, showing huge, crooked, ugly and broken teeth that formed a frightening grin. His ashen skin was stretched tightly over the hideous face and the effect was a death's head with a menacing grin.

It was impossible to tell his age from this strange and terrifying face.

Émilie jumped and backed up a bit, still in her kneeling position. She was startled mostly at the suddenness of his action.

"So, it's true!" he hissed. "You _have_ seen my face before and yet you still back away from me! You see me only as a monster! It would have been better had I perished in the churchyard! Now you are just prolonging the agony for me!"

Émilie forced herself to break the intense gaze of his eyes upon her. She stood up slowly and took a deep breath.

"Erik, I don't find you monstrous. Your face is startling, but not monstrous. It is your attitude that I find strange... And why should you suddenly want to die? You have obviously lived a while and you say you have done many wonderful things..."

Erik calmed down a bit. "_You_ have not lived forty-seven years behind the face of a dead man, a face which everyone considers a horror. It marked me as evil, even as a child. Someday I will make all of them pay for their ill treatment of me!" He said this last as a low, whispering threat.

He paused, closing his eyes, but could not prevent a tear from escaping and travelling down his ashen cheek.

Émilie had conflicting emotions. The few words about his childhood touched her, but in an instant he seemed to be a madman, vowing vengeance and despairing to the point of death.

Emily felt her own eyes become wet with tears of pity for him, for she could envision the small boy with a terrifying face who was hated by everyone through no fault of his own...

In a moment, he turned away from her, perhaps in embarrassment for revealing too much of himself. He said, in a curt tone, "I must have my sleep. Turn out the light when you leave and close the door behind you."

She turned off the gas light and exited the room.

Was he a madman driven to insanity by his horror of a face...or was he something else? The psychology of it fascinated her...


	7. Rémy

_Living so close to the Tessier family, I found it hard to live behind the mask. I had always removed it when alone in my home under the Opera, but, even though Émilie had seen my ugly secret, and it had not affected her as it did most, I had no wish to be the cause of fear or ridicule as had happened in the past too many times._

_I was angry at myself for revealing something of myself to Émilie, not only my face, but speaking of my past. I had vowed never to speak of my past and few ever saw my face._

_At the Tessier home, I allowed myself to be delighted and amused by Émilie's boy, Rémy. As my ankle healed and became stronger, I was able to exchange the crutches for a black staff that had belonged to Dr Tessier's husband. I went outside often with the child and we walked further every day, strengthening my ankle. He seemed to have a bit of childish talent with his tiny wooden sword, so I taught him some fencing moves and we faced off every day for a bit._

_We rarely met anyone on our ventures through the environs, and I enjoyed the warm sun, for I had been denied it for many years living in the cellar of the Opera, coming out only at night. I still wore my cloak, hood, mask and gloves when I ventured outside, for even though it could become uncomfortably hot, it was better than having my sensitive skin severely burned by the sun. I had found that out as a child and had learned my lesson from the pain._

_It felt good to be accepted by Rémy and his mother. The servants however, were fearful of me and avoided me as much as possible. I did not object to their avoidance. _

_One warm sunny day, as I was walking with the boy, we reached the edge of a high cliff. We could see down into the valley, in which was set the nearest village. From this height, it looked to be a fairy dwelling place. I stood for a moment, contemplating the sight. Rémy sat down on a rock and bade me sit beside him. We sat in silence for a while._

_Then Rémy spoke: "Monsieur Erik, why do you wear the mask and gloves all the time?"_

"_I do not wish to speak about that, Rémy."_

"_But, Monsieur, surely you are warm and uncomfortable. And how do you breathe under the mask?"_

"_My skin is sensitive, Rémy. And I breathe comfortably."_

"_But will you not show me your face, that I may know what you look like? You have eyes like a lion, Monsieur. I like them very much."_

"_You would likely not want to see the rest of my face, Rémy. It is better that you think of me with the face of a lion."_

_I desperately wanted Rémy to stop asking questions, yet I did not want to become angry with the boy. I knew what it felt like to be spoken to in anger for an innocent question._

"_But do you have the face of a lion, Monsieur Erik? I truly want to see. Then I will know with whom I speak and the man who is my friend..."_

_I do not know what made me consider showing my face to the boy. Perhaps because he said that I was his "friend." I had never willingly shown it to anyone, unless I wanted to frighten them. I enjoyed my time with Rémy and did not want it to end. And yet, perhaps I was testing him, expecting him to be one more false friend..._

"_I will show you my face on two conditions, Rémy..."_

"_Oui, Monsieur?"_

"_One, that you will not be afraid and that you will not run away from me. Remember, it is me, Erik, the one you have just called "friend..."_

"_Oui, Monsieur..."_

"_And the second, that you will never reveal to anyone that you have seen my face, save perhaps your mother."_

"_Oui, Monsieur..."_

_I did not know what would happen. I removed my hood, untied the bottom of the mask and slowly pulled up the mask off of my face, ending with the removal of the opera cap and the top of the mask. I tried to keep my face in a neutral pose, for I knew that the suddenness of an unmasking and the shock and anger on my own face were things that made it all the more terrifying. I was fearful the boy would scream and I prepared myself for it. He opened his eyes wider and dropped his wooden sword._

"_Ohhhh," said Rémy, but he did not take a step backward. He did not seem frightened, just surprised at my strange appearance._

"_Are you not frightened or horrified, child?" I asked. He kept peering at me and I felt uncomfortable. He hesitantly took a few steps closer._

"_Monsieur Erik, you look as if you are a ghost..."_

"_Are you afraid of ghosts, Rémy?"_

"_I have never seen one before."_

"_Are you afraid of me?"_

"_No...I thought you would look like a lion. But you look like a ghost. Are you dead, Monsieur?"_

_I had to smile in spite of myself. The child was not afraid, for I had prepared him, but he could not in his mind understand what I was, even with his wide imagination._

"_I am not dead, Rémy. My looks have frightened people from the time I was a child. I expected you to run from me..."_

"_You told me not to, Monsieur. Maman says I must obey you when we walk together. But I do not mind having a friend who is a ghost..."_

"_I told you I am not a ghost. I am a man, one with an ugly face." Rémy came closer again and sat beside me._

"_May I touch your face, Monsieur Erik?"_

_I began to think, if I had not known it before, that Rémy was a most charming and unusual child. Most children were as frightened of me as were their parents. This child was indeed remarkable._

"_If you care to, Rémy..." The child touched my cheek. My skin is rough and cold to the touch and he ran his finger down my cheek and across my chin. "See, Rémy, I am not a ghost. You cannot touch a ghost."_

"_Yes, I see."_

"_I must put my mask back on, Rémy, so my skin will not burn." The boy smiled and handed me my mask and opera cap which I replaced on my head. We spent the rest of the day walking and talking and I gave him his usual fencing lesson. Rémy's attitude toward me did not change. I felt I had made the first real friend in my life, even if he were but a child..._


	8. The Paris Newspaper

During the time that day, when Erik and Rémy were walking, Émilie saw several patients. One, a large woman who was a farmer's wife, had broken her finger chopping meat. Émilie checked the finger as the woman said, "Have you heard what is being spoken of in the village, Madame Tessier?"

"I am afraid I am unable to keep up on the latest gossip, Madame LeBeau," smiled Émilie. "Tell me, what am I missing?"

"The Opera Ghost is not dead!"

"What are you speaking of, Madame?"

"The Opera Ghost – the one who has caused much trouble, blackmailing the Opera owners and it is said he even kidnapped the diva Christine Daaé!

"I had read in the papers that he was dragged from his lair underneath the opera, beaten and flung into the Seine and drowned."

"He was seen again, just recently, Madame. It was near our village! I think we are all in danger!"

"Near our village? But how could anyone be sure it is the Opera Ghost? And how could they be sure he did not drown?"

"The police have never found a body. They dragged the river with nets for many days, do you not remember?"

"Perhaps he was truly a ghost...and you cannot kill a ghost...I am sure it is just the ranting of superstitious actors, Madame," said Émilie, echoing Erik's sentiments.

"You must be careful. Where is your child Rémy?"

"He is with a guardian," said Émilie. "He will be safe."

"That is good, then. They say the Opera Ghost is hideous and evil! No one knows what horrible crimes he may commit next!"

The woman's eyes opened wide and she leaned in a bit closer to the doctor. "They say he too, has the power to mesmerise people and that his face is as hideous as his murderous soul!"

Émilie stopped her work momentarily and looked at the gossipy woman strangely. "Have you ever seen this ghost, Madame LeBeau?"

"Me? No! I should have died of fright! I do not want to see such a horror!"

"Do you know anyone who has seen him?"

"No, but I know what they say he looks like... a glowing white death's head with burning yellow eyes! He comes upon a person in the dark and they become paralysed with fear after having seen his hideous face!" She went on, "Then he strangles them with a strange rope that he whips out from the darkness!

"I see," said Émilie thoughtfully.

* * *

><p><em>When I came back to the Tessier homestead, I felt comfortable that Rémy was indeed my friend. Perhaps Émilie was also, but I could not say. I am generally suspicious of everyone and it takes time to discern their underlying motives.<em>

_Dr Tessier requested that the servants not bother us at dinner. The servants brought in the food and then did not come back until we had left the room. That way they were unlikely to look upon my face. I appreciated that consideration. I was able to remove my mask, as now both Rémy and Émilie had seen my face. Then Émilie and I would retire to the music room to entertain each other with music. From the first time that I listened to her voice, I immediately felt I could help her improve it. In my opinion, she did not have to be a physician, she had the talent to become a diva and sing Grand Opera. I felt she was wasting her talent on a career more suitable for a man._

_I was going to speak to her that night and tell her how I could teach her and hone her voice into perfection. I had succeeded with Christine Daaé ...in training her voice to excellence. Madamoiselle Daaé had proved false to me, even though she had become the musical triumph I had trained her to be. Certainly I could succeed with Émilie Tessier. She already knew my secret so that would not be a consideration. And ...I was not in love with the good docteur as I had been with Christine...even the thought of Christine ...her lovely face, her exquisite voice...brought stabs of pain to my heart._

_That night at the dinner table, however, Émilie seemed wary and distant. I did not know why. When I suggested we retire to the music room, she seemed preoccupied and begged off. She said she had to write notes about her patients and then some letters. I did not question her._

_The following day, after his daily lessons with the tutor, I began to teach my little protégé, Rémy, more about fencing. I decided also to show him how to do sleight of hand tricks and if he were an apt pupil, I would show him some of my illusions, things I had used in my act with the circus and later, in the Opera House to keep prying visitors away from my underground retreat._

_In the evening, I approached Émilie again about the voice lessons. She appears to have a low opinion of her voice, but in truth, she has the raw talent which merely needs training. She said she did not have the time. _

_I became a bit impatient and told her again she was wasting her talents on an ungrateful lot. I told her I could make something of her. She gave me a somewhat angry look. I shrugged my shoulders, thinking that she would come around in time. I retired to the library which Émilie said I could make use of if I wished._

_I started looking for something to read. I saw that she had a Paris newspaper on the table. I idly glanced over the main stories. There was nothing of interest for me. _

_Then I glanced down the page a bit and saw a headline. "Music found in the rubble beneath the Paris Opera." The story went on to tell how there was a whole trunk of hand written music found among the rubble. My home, nothing but rubble now...But...my music! It still existed. I became elated and I knew I must get that trunk back! I read that it was now in the possession of a certain M. du Livey. His name was not known to me. It had been sold to him by the owners of the Paris Opera. Of course du Livey would most likely deem it his own music, and publish it under his own name, if it were in his possession! I started pacing in my chagrin. _

_No one must own my music but me! I must get it back! I continued to pace back and forth and think of how I could get my music back! Émilie came in and asked if there were something the matter._

_My emotions must have been obvious to her, although I fought to keep my tone even. "I have just realized that something that belongs to me has been found. I must find a way to get it back!" I sat down in the chair again, wishing she would leave me to myself. Instead, the good docteur sat next to me and put her hand on my arm. I knew she was trying to calm me, but I instead pulled my arm away roughly._

"_Will you leave me, please? I must think of the best way to get my belongings back..."_

"_Erik, what are you talking about? You know you can confide in me."_

"_I have no wish to confide in anyone, Madame Tessier," I said formally and a bit rudely._

"_Then I shall leave you, Monsieur Lenoir. If you should need me, you have only to call."_

_I nodded and went back to my reverie._

_Since I had come to live with the Tessier family, I had begun to feel normal for one of the few times in my life. Of course I had always yearned for marriage and a family of my own, but I felt that, of late, there was only a remote probability of this ever happening. However, living out in the sunlight and being with people who were not afraid of me made me feel energised._

_The darkness of the opera house 5th cellar, living underground like a rat, had been my life for far too long. Being alone made my own thoughts the ruling force in my life. There were times when raw emotion ruled my actions, though I wished to think I was above that._

_Then my thoughts returned to the present. I must think of a plan to recover my music! I stayed in the library until the sun had himself retired for the day. I sat in the darkness until it was very late. I could not think clearly any more. I closed my eyes, knowing I would think of something on the morrow._


	9. The Library

Émilie discovered her house guest had not been to bed all night, when, quietly opening the library door a slit, she found Erik sitting up in the same chair where he had last spoken to her the previous evening. He was fast asleep. She hoped that he was in a better humour than yesterday.

She asked Nicole to bring a breakfast tray with food enough for two. Émilie said she would take it in herself. The docteur opened the door and closed it after herself a bit loudly, meaning to awaken her house guest.

"Monsieur Lenoir, I have brought some breakfast. I hope you will not be offended if I would join you."

Erik actually smiled. "Yes, please do."

"Why were you so abrupt last night, Erik?"

"Are you psycho-analyzing me, a la the illustrious Dr Freud?"

"Perhaps, but it is only to help you..."

"Indeed! I have no wish to listen to your prying questions."

"I am sorry, Erik. I shall not intrude on you further." Émilie picked up the tray and started to place her dishes back on them. Erik reached out a pale, skeletal hand and gently stopped her at the wrist.

"No, please don't leave. I have been rude, Émilie. But I beg you, no more questions!"

Émilie smiled and nodded.

After a few moments of silence as the docteur and her house guest finished their breakfast, Erik said, "My dear Émilie, I must have the opportunity to train your voice. You have the raw makings of a great opera diva and you will rise to the top under my tutelage. It would give me much pleasure to do this for you..."

"I thank you for your confidence in me, but even though music is a wonderful diversion, my heart is with the study and practice of medicine."

"You are wasting your talent, Madame."

"I do not agree. And furthemore, one cannot engage in too many various and sundry pursuits in one lifetime."

"Why do you not leave medicine where it belongs, in the hands of men?"

"Monsieur! I am surprised that you should say such a thing. You have no confidence in my diagnoses and medical technique?"

"No, you are obviously skilled." He paused and looked her directly in the eye. "You _did_ save my life. I _am_ duly grateful..."

* * *

><p>A bit later in the day, a letter was delivered to the Tessier home addressed to Émilie. It came from Paris and was in answer to her queries. She wondered what was Erik's connection to the Opera House. She requested information as to whether they knew of an Erik Lenoir and whether he had ever been connected with the Paris Opera in any way.<p>

Erik admitted to being classically trained and having written music, including opera. He had mentioned the Paris Opera often, although not specifically saying that he had performed there. She wondered about that. He could have performed with his wonderful singing voice and, with heavy makeup and costume masks, no one would be the wiser. At least those were her speculations.

In the letter, she had not stated that Erik was staying with her, indeed, she did not make reference to the fact that she knew him at all. Her psychological background made her curious about him and she wished to know more. Therefore, she was interested when she received the reply missive.

The letter stated mysteriously that the best way to find the information she was seeking would be to visit the Opera House herself. Upon some thought, she decided that she would indeed go. She made arrangements to leave for Paris in a few days.

Dr Tessier cancelled all of her appointments for the next few weeks. She spoke to Rémy and Erik separately and asked Erik to continue taking care of the child as he had been doing. He agreed, although protesting that he had business in Paris also and wished to go along. She refused, saying she must go alone. In reality, she was did not want him to find out her real reason for going to Paris.

Émilie told the servants that she would be gone for perhaps several weeks and to keep the household running and her child and house guest happy. She told Rémy to make sure he studied his lessons with the tutor and to obey the servants and Erik. She entrusted Marie Gagnon with money to buy food and household items and told her to especially watch Rémy and see that he did not get into trouble.

On the morning of her departure, one of Émilie's neighbours took her to the village in his horse and carriage where she could take the train to Paris.

* * *

><p><em>I was unhappy with the docteur's plans to go away on business to Paris. I would have wished to go with her to be able to retrieve my music. She refused. So I agreed; someone needed to stay with the boy. I did not trust her servants. Rémy as usual, was a joy to be around. I would have left long ago, had it not been for the boy.<em>

_One day I was again in the library. I wrote a letter to M. du Livey to find out about the music and whether he was willing to sell it. I had left my money, which was considerable, well hidden in my home under the Opera when I had fled. I would have to locate the money as well, presuming it was still there, in order to pay for the music._

_The library was a cosy room, filled with bookshelves up to the ceiling. It was decorated with classical statuettes and lace curtains adorned the windows, letting in the bright sun and making one want to sit near the window and read. The wallpaper was dark green and the carpeting matched, adorned with small pink flowers. There were oil lamps on several tables and gas lights on the walls. A lovely crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. A long case clock stood in the corner and sounded the Westminster chime periodically._

_I could see that there were many medical books, but there was also a collection of fiction and books which I could see must belong to Rémy. There were many other collections and I walked from shelf to shelf to see what other subjects were represented. On a small table in the corner, atop a lacy table scarf, stood an exquisite silver candelabra._

_In front of the silver piece sat a large stack of folders. I wondered if they were the doctor's medical notes. I idly glanced at the folders and saw some titles, "Merrick, Joseph (John) - Elephant Man"; "Bunker, Chang and Eng – Siamese Twins"; "Tom Thumb - Midget" and there were many other oddities, familiar to myself as types that inhabit circus side-shows. Then I came to a folder which bore the title "Lenoir, Erik." With a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, I picked it up and opened it. I was correct! She **was** psycho-analyzing me! _

_I started reading the notes in the folder entitled with my name, and as I did, I could feel the fury building in my rib cage and travelling upward toward my face. The good docteur was psycho-analyzing me, and more than that, only saw me as a deformed horror, mixed in with the other oddities of humanity! She had lied to me!_

_I was unable to stop the rage from enveloping me. I could not finish reading the notes. I became blind with fury and I threw down the folder, then knocked the rest of the folders off the table and they flew everywhere. I scarcely remember picking up the small wooden table and beating it on the floor as rage took over my mind. I heard glass breaking and a scream which emanated from my own throat and then..._


	10. The Plot

Hearing a scream and a violent pounding on the floor and the crash of breaking glass in the library, Marie Gagnon, the maid, opened the door. A scene of utter devastation met her eye. Almost every book was pulled out of the bookshelves. There was broken glass and wood everywhere. Several statuettes were in pieces and there was a world globe that was no longer on its stand and now sported a huge gash in North America. In the middle of the devastation, indeed the cause of it, stood the black-clad figure of Docteur Tessier's house guest. Erik's back was to Marie as she opened the door. He heard the sound and turned to face her. He was not wearing his mask. It was impossible to know whose scream was the loudest, Marie's or Erik's.

Marie fled screaming from the room. Her husband, Jacques, came running, as well as Nicole. The child was outside playing by himself and did not hear the commotion.

"What is wrong, Marie?" asked Jacques, comforting his wife.

Marie could hardly speak. She pointed toward the library's open door. "That thing...in the library...a monster!..." She choked out the words and then began to cry hysterically. Jacques and Nicole ran to the library's open door and saw the devastation. In middle of the destruction, Erik was standing facing them, the leg of a broken chair in his hand, ready to defend himself. His eyes were livid.

Jacques entered the door by himself, but Marie came in after, hiding herself behind her husband. "Here, take this!" she hissed at her husband as she handed him a revolver. Jacques aimed the gun at Erik.

"Throw that down!" cried Jacques, not as forcefully as he would have liked.

Erik said nothing, but advanced on the servant slowly, staring him in the eye. Jacques seemed mesmerized, paralyzed. He did not move, but the wily Marie was still hiding behind her husband. She picked up a small piece of wood and threw it with precision. It hit Erik in the face, near his eyes, and he instinctively put his hands to his face. In that instant, Marie prodded Jacques out of his state of inertia and Jacques suddenly and forcefully hit Erik over the head with the butt of the revolver.

As the house guest crumpled to the floor, Jacques turned to his wife,"What shall I do now?"

"Put him to bed in his room and lock the door so he cannot get out!" cried Marie, embracing her husband. "He is a madman and a monster! Can't you see that from his face?"

"Yes..." said Jacques. "All right. I will do as you say." Jacques dragged Erik unceremoniously to his room, threw him on the bed and locked the door.

Nicole watched the whole scenario by peeking out from behind a large highboy in the next room. She was only seventeen and not very brave. She listened as Jacques and Marie made plans.

"What sort of evil creature did Dr Tessier invite into her home, Jacques?" said Marie in disgust. "What do you think it is?" Jacques shrugged his shoulders. They were sitting at the table and Nicole sat down too.

Nicole said nothing. She didn't understand either, but she had heard the lovely music of the house guest and Dr Tessier, many a night. Someone who could make such lovely music could hardly be evil, could he? She had seen his face too, but...

"What do we do now?" asked Jacques.

"Keep him locked in the room," said Marie. "Let him starve!"

"But Marie, that is cruel," said Nicole.

"He must be evil, Nicole... no good person could have a face like that...if he _is _a person! We must make sure he does not hurt anyone again!"

"But he has not hurt anyone...in fact, he has been kind to Rémy and the child enjoys his company..." said Nicole.

"Ah, what does a child know?" said Marie. "Did you not see him advance threateningly on Jacques? And besides, you can see he is a madman...you saw the devastation in the library...what monstrous wrath the creature has!"

"What will Madame Tessier say when she returns and finds out we have done away with her house guest?" asked Nicole, still not convinced that starving the house guest was a good idea.

"I have a plan, Nicole. Jacques, come here and listen to me. Madame Tessier will never find out..."

* * *

><p>Nicole wondered what was wrong with the house guest, why he was so ugly. She had been terribly frightened when she saw him earlier in the library. But in spite of her misgivings, that night, very late, after the Gagnons had retired to bed, Nicole quietly made a tray of food and brought it to Erik's door. She unlocked the door and closed it after her. She carried an oil lamp which she set down on the dresser along with the tray.<p>

Their house guest was fully clothed, although without his mask. He was lying on the bed, seemingly asleep, but his eyes flew open as she came nearer.

"Monsieur!" she cried, in fright. She backed off a bit from the bed.

Erik leaped off the bed and advanced on the girl. He reached her and clutched her tightly by the shoulders.

"I have asked never to be disturbed!"

Nicole started crying. His face was so close to hers and his eyes were so burning and terrible and his teeth were huge and frightening...

"I am sorry, Monsieur! But I have come to tell you that your life is in danger! Marie and Jacques are afraid of you and are planning to kill you!"

"So why have you come to tell me this...are you not afraid of me?"

"Yes, Monsieur, terribly! Please do not clutch me so..."

Erik let her go and backed off. He sat on the edge of the bed. "I am sorry, Nicole. But I do not take kindly to those who enter my room unbidden." He paused for a moment. His anger cooled and he realized this frightened young woman had taken a risk to try to warn him. "Please sit down. I am acting rudely." He indicated a chair across from the bed. "I shall not hurt you."

His voice became softer, as did his eyes. "Why are you warning me, Nicole? What is this plot against me?"

Nicole sobbed, tears streaming down her face. "I do not know who or what you are, but I do not believe it is right to kill anyone, unless they are wicked...are you wicked, Monsieur?"

"Some might call me wicked, Nicole. What do you think?"

"I do not know. I thought you were defending yourself in the library, but I do not know why you devastated the room..."

"Then you must think me terribly wicked..."

"No, Monsieur, all I know are two things...the first, that you make the most beautiful music I have ever heard. The second, and most important, is that you have been most kind to the child. I believe he loves you and a child's love is not to be taken lightly. They know things that others do not know."

"Nicole, in the library...I have spells sometimes...my anger gets the better of me..."

"Please, Monsieur, eat the supper I have brought you. You may not get a chance to eat later...I must tell you how they are conspiring..."

Erik ate slowly as Nicole explained that Marie and Jacques were planning to keep him locked in his room, as indeed he was now. Jacques would enter the room and render Erik unconscious. Jacques would then throw him off the cliff to the river below, where he would most certainly be smashed to pieces on the rocks below or be drowned. They spoke of doing the deed early, before dawn, perhaps this morning, perhaps tomorrow. In any case, it was imminent.

Nicole looked down. "They are taking this trouble because they want it to look like an accident."

Erik gazed at Nicole with his strange yellow eyes, the flickering of the lamp's flame making odd shadows on his already strange face. He smiled bitterly. "Come here, child..." His eyes were magnetic.

She approached a bit closer and knelt at his feet. He reached to touch her face gently with his cold, skeletal fingers, but she did not flinch. "The world has not been kind to me, you know. But you have been kind and I thank you for that. Vous êtes une femme courageuse – you are a brave woman."

"What are you going to do, Monsieur?" she asked fearfully. "You will not hurt us, will you?"

"No, Nicole. I have a plan. Even though M. et Mme. Gagnon deserve...well, I shall not harm them for your sake and that of Rémy." He paused. "I shall leave through this door tonight...I will depart when the house is quiet...Give me the key..."

"Yes, Monsieur." Nicole was frightened, but determined to help this strange man, for the sake of Madame Tessier and her son. "What about Madame Tessier?"

"I shall speak to le bon docteur at another time. She has a bit of explaining to do..."


	11. The Physician's Notes

Reading Dr Tessier's physician notes were the antecedent to Erik's recent rage. He had not even finished reading them...the rage became so extreme. He had suffered an intense episode of destructive anger, brought on by feelings of betrayal and years of melancholia. By the time Nicole came to speak to him, he had recovered sufficiently to think clearly again.

This is a short summary of the notes that had caused the rage:

_Physician's Notes Concerning the Psychological Profile of Erik Lenoir. Gender: Male. Age: 47, exact date of birth unknown. Subject suffers from a birth defect that manifests itself in a face which is strange, misshapen and grotesque, resembling a quite hideous death's head. His skin is of an ashen colour and cold to the touch. Subject has not had blood tests to determine if a deficiency is present. My hypothesis is that the colour is caused by an anaemia and poor circulation, resulting from lack of sunlight and proper nutrition. _

_The subject came to my attention six months ago, suffering from a fractured fibula, broken at the lateral malleolus. He also suffered from exposure and fever, congestion of the lungs and general weakness. His recovery from the fever and lung congestion was rapid; the ankle was completely healed in about 8 weeks._

_I became interested in the subject immediately, as my psychological studies have delved into the psyche of those with strange afflictions or disabilities and how they manage to survive and deal with their difficult circumstances._

_The subject appears to have literally hidden behind a mask, physically and psychologically, for many years. From the little I have been able to glean of his background, he has experienced trauma relating to his misfortune since he was a child. He mentioned once, in passing, that even his mother could not abide the sight of him. He has an aversion to speaking of his past. He has not spoken more of that which must have been a traumatic childhood. I believe the subject suffers from a depressive malady, dating from childhood traumas, and manifesting in bitterness and certain anxieties.  
><em>

_The subject is however, intellectually superior, in fact, although I am unqualified to make such an evaluation without the results of any tests, I would state that he is a genius and very gifted in many areas, especially music and the arts. He has spoken of having been trained as an architect. I suspect he has many other talents in addition. I believe he is expert in the field of mesmerism, for I have felt its effects on myself at least two different times. He seems to use this "power" over others to assert his own will, when situations do not go as he would wish. He can be arrogant and willful, selfish and rude. He is very manipulative. Yet he has another side which is polite and gentlemanly and sometimes has a sarcastic wit and a sharp tongue. As he allows me more access into his personality, I shall begin to understand more of him._

_This strange man can be gentle and kind on occasion. He has an excellent relationship with my 8 year old son and is very agreeable and thoughtful with the child. And he is extremely charming when he wishes to be. In general, he has an engaging personality and would have been a most sought-after marriage partner, were it not for his unfortunate affliction._

_One thing disturbs me however, about this subject. Based on many observations, I am concerned that there is as part of his personality which teeters at the brink of insanity. I have seen him several times, suddenly enter into a rage which he does not appear to be able to control._

_As I became aware of the subject's tendency toward what might be insanity, I wondered if I were being a fool to let my child go on walks with this man. But they seem so happy and refreshed after these walks, I feel it is good therapy for both of them. I have however, asked Jacques to shadow them on their walks, from a distance, just as a precaution._

* * *

><p>The journey by rail took three hours. Émilie stayed at a hotel near the Opera House. She made an appointment by telephone with the present managers of the Paris Opera. Their names were Armand Montcharmin and Firmin Richard. Émilie spoke with M. Montcharmin.<p>

M. Montcharmin graciously invited her to come the following day to the Paris Opera House and he would tell her all about its history, including the notorious Ghost. She was promised a tour. She wondered what he had to tell her.

* * *

><p>The morning after Nicole's warning, Marie and Jacques arose very early, before dawn. Jacques had stayed awake all night thinking that he did really not want to hurt anyone, even a monster like M. Lenoir. He weakly protested, but Marie insisted. She said they would all be in danger while Lenoir was still in the house. She told Jacques to bring a bludgeon in case the creature fought back.<p>

Jacques crept over to the door quietly and unlocked it, as his wife, who held an oil lamp, came in slowly after Jacques. Nicole stood back. Nicole hoped fervently that Erik had had time to flee. Then she realized that the key she had given him had been in the keyhole and the door had been locked.

Jacques peered inside the dark room. It had no window. As he opened the door wider, he realized there was no one in the room. "Marie!" he said in surprise. "Lenoir is gone!"

"He must be under the bed or in the closet, Jacques...look for him!" cried Marie. Of course Erik was nowhere to be found. Marie and Jacques searched the whole house, with Nicole making a show of helping them.

Jacques was relieved that their house guest had left on his own. Marie, however, was fuming that the creature had outwitted them. And yet, she was glad to be rid of the troublesome house guest, too.


	12. Where is Erik?

Several hours later that morning, Rémy came downstairs and the door to the dining room was open. Normally, he and his mother and M. Lenoir ate breakfast with the door closed so that the servants would not see Erik. Rémy knew his mother had gone to Paris, but where was Erik?

"Madame Marie, where is Erik?" he asked when he saw the maid.

"I am afraid he has left us, Rémy. He has decided to seek his fortune somewhere else. He was probably tired of us anyway."

"But he did not say au revoir to me...will I not see him again?"

"I do not know, Rémy. And perhaps it is best. He is not a good man, you know."

"What do you mean that he is not a good man...he has been very good to me..."

"Rémy, you are but a child; you know nothing of life yet. Believe me when I say we are better off that he is gone."

Rémy said nothing more, but felt angry at Marie for her words. Rémy perhaps knew nothing of life yet, but he knew a friend when he met one...

After breakfast, not wanting to believe Marie's words, Rémy tried the door of Erik's room. It was locked, but not from the inside, the key was still in the outer lock. Rémy looked around, then quickly opened the door.

To his disappointment, it was empty. His friend really _was_ gone! He quickly exited the room, and re-locked the door.

Rémy went back to his own room. He couldn't help the tears that welled up in his eyes. He brushed them away. He had conflicting emotions, sadness, yet anger that Erik had not even said goodbye. He buried his face in his pillow and cried softly, the pillow muffling any sobbing that might be overheard.

Finally he got up and sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes were blurry from tears. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. He picked up his wooden sword from its place on the top of his toy chest. As he picked it up, a small folded piece of paper fell to the floor. Rémy picked it up and opened it. It read:

_Rémy, I am so sorry to have left without saying goodbye, but it was necessary. I believe my life is in danger. Do not try to follow me, whatever you do. I hope I will see you again, but I cannot promise this. Ton ami, Erik Lenoir._

Rémy put the paper in his pocket. He took his wooden sword as he did every day and told Nicole he was going to play outside.

"Rémy, you know that M. Lenoir has gone..." she said in a low voice, looking about to make sure neither Marie or Jacques were near.

The child nodded.

"He did not want to leave without saying goodbye, but he had to go. Do not feel sad, he is well."

Rémy nodded sadly again. "I am going out to play then, by myself."

Rémy made his way to the churchyard, where he had spent hours playing alone before he had met Erik. He sat down at the tombstone where he had found Erik ill and hurt that first day. He didn't feel like playing games today.

As he was idly hitting his sword against the grass, he suddenly heard a squeaking, groaning sound. He turned and saw the rusted gate of the mausoleum behind him swinging slightly and groaning in the breeze. He went to investigate. That gate normally was latched. Who would have opened it? Who would want to break _into_ a mausoleum?

Rémy quietly stepped into the darkness and took a few hesitant steps. The gate groaned again and he jumped. He was about to leave when someone grabbed him from behind! His scream was cut off as a gloved hand was put across his mouth.

Rémy looked up and saw that his captor was a black-masked, caped and hooded figure.

"Erik!" said Rémy.

"Sssh. Yes, it's me," said Erik, pulling up the mask so the child could see. "Be quiet. They are after me."

"Who?" asked Rémy.

"Some people who want to hurt me, Rémy. They have called the village gendarmes...they are swarming about...I am hiding here until dark when I can travel without risk of being seen."

"Erik, where are you going?"

"I shall go to Paris. I have business there. I have been here since just before dawn, but I cannot travel unless it is dark. "

"May I go with you, Erik?"

"Certainly not. It is too dangerous."

"Oh please, please...if you go to Paris, I can meet my mother there."

"Rémy, you must listen to me. I cannot take you with me, much as I should wish to. I will be travelling on foot to the village and take the train from there to Paris."

The boy pleaded again.

"No, Rémy. But you may stay with me here until it is dark. Then I will take you home and I will be on my way."

Rémy did not protest any more.

Then they heard voices from a distance. Unfamilar voices... Erik knew that Marie had called les gendarmes from the village. They had been swarming in the area for several hours.

"Who are they, Erik?" whispered Rémy.

"I told you before, some people who wish to hurt me...Rémy, you must remain perfectly still..." Erik whispered. Erik carefully pulled the rusty gate shut and wedged a piece of wood at the bottom so it would not blow in the wind and attract attention. He wedged another longer piece so that it could not be opened from the outside.

He pulled the child further into the dark. There was a dusty marble bench near the entrance, just to the side of the gate. Erik swirled his black cloak about the child protectively and they both sat in the half darkness. They could not be seen even from just outside the gate. Rémy was frightened of the mausoleum, he had never been inside, but the aura of death pervaded it. Erik pulled the child closer to himself, for he could feel Rémy shaking in fear.

The voices became louder. Erik and Rémy heard footfalls on the grass as two men came over to the mausoleum. They shook the rusty gate. Erik tensed, making ready for a fight. Rémy's heart was beating so loud he was sure it could be heard outside.

""He cannot be in in this place...What type of person would hide in a mausoleum, Denis?" said one voice.

Another answered him, "Who would know? The servants said he was demented..." They shook the gate again, but the wood pieces held. "Ah, it does not open but with a key...and the only keyhole is on the outside."

The first voice laughed. "He would _have_ to be demented and macabre to hide here, in any case..." The second voice laughed and the two fugitives heard the sound of the footfalls on the grass disappear into the distance.

Erik relaxed. "_The fools,_" he thought, "_they are too stupid to see that the door was not locked ant the wood blocks were wedged from the inside, not the outside!_"

Erik glanced outside. "It is safe, Rémy, but still be quiet. I cannot leave here until night falls."

Remembering the locked door to the guest room, Rémy said, "Did someone lock you in your room, Erik?"

"Oui, someone did."

"How did you get out?"

"I would rather not say, Rémy..."

"Oh. Who are these bad people?"

"I cannot tell you that either, Rémy. But I know that I must escape them."

The wait until sunset, inside the mausoleum, was difficult for Erik, but worse for the child. Erik thought about Marie and Jacques and their evil intentions toward him. Could they be fit caretakers for the child? Perhaps he _should_ consider taking Rémy with him... He could meet up with Émilie in Paris and take the child to her. Yes, that was a good plan...

"Rémy, I have changed my mind," said Erik. "You may accompany me to Paris and we shall meet your mother there."

Suddenly Rémy lost his fear. "Oh, Monsieur Erik, do you really mean it?" He hugged his strange black-clad friend.

"It will be a while until sunset, Rémy. Nicole gave me some food to take along. Are you hungry?"

"Oui."

"There is a spring near the old church. Let us go out into the sunlight to eat. I do not think les gendarmes will be about here anymore today."

They left the cold dankness of the mausoleum and drank from the spring near the church. The church was ancient and falling down, brick by brick. Weeds of every kind with their wild and delicate flowers grew between the bricks in the floor of the nave. Grapevines twisted themselves between the bricks and up the remaining walls. The stained glass windows had long since deteriorated, only broken shards of glass remained. Most of the roof was gone. Ivy grew on the remaining walls, not only outside but inside too.

The two fugitives took temporary sanctuary inside the broken church. There was a strange sense of peacefulness there...


	13. The Flight

After sunset, Erik and his small charge set out for the village. It was several miles, and Erik hoped the child would not hinder his flight. Rémy walked as fast as he could, but after some distance, he was tired.

"Please, Monsieur Erik, can I sit down? I am very tired..."

"I have no time to waste, Rémy, I must make the ten o'clock train to Paris..."

"But my feet hurt and I am tired..."

"You surely do not want me to carry you like a baby, do you, Rémy?"

"No, certainly not!"

"Then come, we must fly...it is only a short way to the village..."

* * *

><p>Earlier that morning, Marie had called les gendarmes to report a madman in the area. She described him, but did not say that she and Jacques had held him captive and were planning to do away with him. The police swarmed about the area while Erik and Rémy had hidden in the churchyard.<p>

Then, when Rémy did not return from his play at supper time, Nicole and Marie went outside to call for him. Jacques searched everywhere around the house, but did not think of searching near the churchyard until it was after dark. A search there found no one, for Erik and Rémy had already fled.

Nicole panicked. Her first thought was that Erik had kidnapped Rémy. She had not expected that he would do that. Unfortunately, Marie thought exactly the same thing. Marie called the police again to report Rémy's disappearance. She hoped he would be found before Mme. Tessier's return.

* * *

><p>Dr Tessier met with M. Montcharmin and M. Richard the day after she arrived in Paris. The managers of the Opera were gracious and sat down in their office to speak with her.<p>

"I am interested in the history of this Opera House," Émilie said. "I am a médécin by trade, but I have always been fascinated by beautiful music. In fact, I have dabbled in singing opera as a hobby..." She noticed the look that passed between the two men and she knew what they were thinking.

"No, no, Messieurs, I have not come for an audition," she smiled. "Certainly not. I am a medical docteur with a second degree in psychology. I would not give up my work for another career."

M. Richard nodded. "Thank you. We do get many requests for auditions." He paused. "So it is merely a wish to learn about the history of the Opera House?"

"It is more than that, Monsieur...I must be blunt about it...I am intrigued by the mysterious Opera Ghost. I should like to hear what you know about him. As I mentioned, one of my degrees is in psychology. I should like to know more about this so-called "ghost," if indeed it is a real person. Then there is the reaction of the crowd...the mob mentality...I understand he was thrown into the Seine..."

"That was what the paper reported..."

He and M. Montcharmin told her how the Paris Opera had been designed and built by a talented young architect who preferred to remain somewhat anonymous. He was known only by name and he submitted the plans and contracts only by mail. On occasion, because of his wish to be unknown, he would appear late in the day, as the building was being constructed and do his inspections alone. The following day, a list of changes and additions would appear in the mail of the construction firm.

"What did he look like, I am curious,"said Émilie.

M. Richard laughed. "No one knows. He wore a strange looking mask."

"A mask? What did it look like?"

"A full white ceramic mask, down to the mouth area, with a piece of gauze-like cloth attached at the bottom, so that when he spoke, the gauze would move. A somewhat odd phenomenon. The mask itself had painted eyebrows and the eyes were painted around the eye holes. And he often wore a fedora hat. He never removed the mask in front of anyone...he did enjoy his privacy."

"I see. So what else can you tell me about this architect?"

"He was not heard from again after the construction was finished. But it was found that he had constructed many, many secret passages and strange rooms in the building. When we first arrived, we changed all the locks on the doors..."

"Why did you do that, Monsieur?"

"There was a rumour..." began M. Montcharmin.

"It was not a rumour, my good fellow!" interrupted M. Richard.

"What do you mean, a rumour?" asked Émilie.

The two managers looked at each other. M. Richard cleared his throat. "We had a blackmailer living here deep below the opera house, in the cellars, who demanded a yearly fee of 240,000 francs. He was the one who called himself the Opera Ghost."

"Why, what was he blackmailing you for?"

"He promised dire things would happen if we did not accede to his wishes." He paused. "There was more...he requested that Box 5 never be sold."

"That is a strange request, certainly..."

"And he wished for a certain young diva to sing the lead part in an opera which was being performed and when these wishes were not acceded to..." here he sighed and looked directly at Émilie. "The young lady was not allowed to sing the lead that night and during the performance, the great crystal chandelier was cut from its chains and fell into the audience, killing one person, hurting many more. From that time on, we took him...whom we called "the Ghost" much more seriously."

Montcharmin took up the narrative. "This Ghost then kidnapped the poor young diva and threatened her, according to the words of a young nobleman who later became her husband. He held her captive in the cellars which were his lair. He also terrorized the nobleman who came to rescue the young lady, by torturing him in a special room of mirrors, and hot air; eventually it was even flooded to try to drown the poor man."

"But was he truly a ghost?" asked the docteur. "If he were, could he do such things? Did anyone ever see him?"

"There were rumours, of course, of those who claimed to have seen him. They described a skeletal figure in evening dress with a death's head and burning eyes."

Émilie inhaled audibly. "But if not a ghost, what caused the calamities that occurred?"

"There was apparently a person, living down in the cellars, a flesh and blood person. What he looked like I could not say," replied M. Richard. "He could have been a vagabond, having found a place of refuge in the cellars and he took it upon himself to cause this mischief. He could have been someone skilled in makeup who donned this frightful look in order to terrorize those who approached him too closely. This is all speculation. All I know is that the people of Paris became inflamed when they heard the rumours and they chased this poor creature from the cellars and beat him to death, throwing him in the Seine. That was the last anyone heard of this vagabond, or whoever he was."

"It would seem that it was more than a bit of mischief, M. Richard. You say someone was killed..."

"Yes, the woman who was killed when the chandelier fell, then there were two others found, one near where the scenery is stored and one found near the lake..."

Émilie's eyes opened wide..."Three murders? And the nobleman who was almost drowned?"

"Yes."

"And so the "hauntings" have stopped once this mysterious person was killed?"

"Yes, just about that time."

"Could the ghost and this person who was killed by the mob possibly be the same?"

"Yes, it would be possible. Some are quite sure of it. The 'hauntings' have not continued for some months now, almost a year, I would think... and that has been the end of this rumour. But there is more... you have, I am sure, heard the next set of rumours that this ghost has been seen near a village not far from here. And then there was the discovery of the stash of music in the ruined 5th cellar of the Opera. There is no indication why it was there and who it belonged to."

"I see, Who is it that found the music?"

"A certain M. du Livey. He had asked permission to look about the 5th cellar to see if he could find evidence of the ghost in the rubble that was left down there after the crowd destroyed much of that area. He told us he found the music and offered us a handsome sum of money for it. We sold it to him sight unseen, for that was one of the stipulations of the sale. Certainly any music composed by a vagabond living in the cellar with the rats could be of no use to us..."

"Two last questions, do you think it possible that this so-called ghost or vagabond could have ever performed on the opera stage, perhaps in disguise...and could the music have belonged to him?"

"Your first question...we cannot answer. We do not really know the answer to the second either...but the music was of no interest to us. Written by an unknown and unheard composer...we did not even ask to see it."

The two managers of the Opera House gave Émilie the walking tour of the building, pointing out Box 5, which had stayed empty even though the Ghost appeared to have gone. That evening she was treated to a performance of _Pelléas et Mélisande _by Debussy, written just 8 years before. Before leaving the opera that night, Émilie pressed an envelope into M. Richard's hand which contained a generous donation to the opera house. She realized that is why they had taken so much time with her, hoping she would become an opera patron.


	14. The House Guest Has Left

Back at the hotel, Émilie could not stop the bad feeling that she had in the pit of her stomach when the opera managers had spoken of the murders that had occurred.

She didn't know what to think, what to disregard as rumour. The biggest thoughts on her mind were, could Erik be the so-called "Ghost?" Could he have been the architect of the building? Could he have caused the murders? Could the stash of music belong to Erik? And M. Montcharmin had mentioned another rumour that nagged at her...the managers showed her an anonymous note they had received. The note stated that there was a person with the name of Erik (It gave a description)...who was a mental asylum escapee...The writer identified him with the recently departed Opera Ghost...

After retiring to her room, Émilie decided she must call to find out how everyone was faring at home.

Marie answered the phone. "Marie, how is Rémy? I am constantly thinking about him; I miss him very much."

"Yes, Madame."

"How is he, Marie?" she asked again. Marie seemed elusive.

"He is fine, Madame," lied Marie.

"Are you sure? I sense some doubt in your voice..."

"Well, it is just that your house guest has left us and the boy seems to miss him..."

"M. Lenoir has gone? Did he say why?"

"He did not. He left during the night."

"I see. As long as Rémy is all right. I could come back immediately..."

"Oh please, Madame! We are taking good care of the child. Finish your business in Paris and rest assured that all is well at home."

Émilie could not put her finger on it, but Marie did not sound completely believable. Perhaps it was Erik's sudden departure and Rémy's sadness over the same. In some small part of herself, she felt relieved that their house guest had left. If he were truly the Opera Ghost, then the whole household could have been in danger.

* * *

><p><em>Nicole, in addition to giving me some food for my journey, had also given me some money, for I had not a sou on my person the whole time I was with the Tessier household. It was apparently her own money, and her generosity touched me. All I had was left in the Opera House 5th Cellar when I fled and I had not had time to take any of it with me. Whether the money would be still there in its hiding place, I could not say. I resolved to pay the girl back as soon as I could. And...I must not forget Madame Tessier, for although she considers me a monster, she had sheltered me with kindness since the day I had lain ill in the churchyard, which is considerably more than most would have done for me.<em>

_A fairly short walk brought us to the village and we arrived at the railway station from which we could depart for Paris. I did not want to be seen in public, at least as little as possible, so I sent Rémy to purchase tickets for us, for a private compartment where I would be away from prying eyes. We found our compartment, but were dismayed to find out that a talkative woman had also been placed in that compartment._

_Both Rémy and I nodded to the woman. He sat across from me, next to the woman. I looked out of the window, although there was not much that I could make out, other than the station platform which was illuminated by gas lights. Then the train began to move through the dark night, and there was even less that could be seen._

_The talkative middle aged woman addressed her repartie to me: "So, Monsieur, how old is your little son?"_

_Rémy answered, "I am eight years old, Madame."_

"_I was not addressing you, child, I was addressing your...is it father, uncle perhaps?."_

_I continued to ignore her. She sat in silence for a few moments._

"_Monsieur, are you not too warm wearing your mask, cape and hood?"_

_I should have expected it. They always want to know. Then when they find out, they are sorry._

"_I am not too warm, but thank you for asking," I said, coldly._

_She kept giving me sideways glances. "Monsieur, why do you wear such a strange mask?"_

"_Indeed, why do I wear one at all?" I retorted angrily. "It is none of your business, Madame!"_

_She opened her mouth to say more, but I interjected, "If you are so curious, I should gladly remove my mask, if you would but take off your shoes and stockings that I may inspect your feet and then I would be glad to have you inspect my face!"_

"_Monsieur!" she shrieked in indignation. _

_I went on: "If it were up to me, I should think it would improve your looks if you were to wear a mask!"_

"_Well, I never!" she muttered. She picked up her suitcase and removed herself from the compartment immediately in search of less rude company._

_I was still seething, until I noticed Rémy laughing behind his hand. At that point, I had to admit, I had enjoyed getting the better of this inquisitive woman. I asked Rémy to pull the shades on the door windows so I could remove my mask. There was a pack of cards left in the compartment among the magazines left by a former occupant. I took the cards and showed Rémy some sleight-of-hand tricks, then made him learn it and demonstrate to me. I spent the rest of the three hour trip in his delightful company._

_Rémy and I alit from the coach at the railway station and began the walk to the Paris Opera. We took alleys and lesser used streets to avoid attention. I wondered if I would find my former home intact; if there was anything left at all..._


	15. The 5th Cellar of the Opera House

_We reached the Palais Garnier, home of the Paris Opera. I took Rémy through a secret door only I knew about. It was accessible through a removable stone, which contained a small lever. When pulled, it released a door which disappeared into a pocket and then closed again from the inside. We were able to access the cellars and I took him down the myriad of steps to the 5th cellar._

_When we arrived, I saw that my lovely gondola had been smashed and I could see its bow protruding from the waters of the lake, sadly sunken...but I was not without resources. I always planned ahead. I had hidden a small plain row boat behind a secret door near this side of the lake and another on the side located near my home._

_I pulled the hidden lever which raised a secret door and revealed the row boat. I rowed Rémy and myself across the lake._

_When we reached our destination, I noticed that some of the gas lights were dark, but a few still shed a bit of light. I lit a few torches and placed them on the wall._

_My former home was in devastation. The murderous crowd had run through, looking for me, and on the way, they had plundered and ruined most of my possessions. The curtains were ripped asunder and my furniture stolen or broken in pieces. My beloved organ was smashed to smithereens. I stood in disbelief. I had hoped to return here at some time in the future, then I would be able to still hear the grand music from the opera above and continue to work on my own music, but all was in ruins. _

_I must have stood there in silence for a long time. I removed my mask and sat on a pile of rubble. I was startled by Rémy's voice...I had almost forgotten that he was there._

"_Monsieur Erik, what is this place?" The child came and sat beside me._

"_This was once my home..."_

"_What happened to it?"_

"_A crowd of ruffians came through here and ruined it, Rémy."_

"_Why?"_

"_Ruffians have no reason for anything they do, Rémy..."_

_The child hugged me. "Oh, poor Erik, what shall you do now?"_

_I hugged him back. "I must look for something that I left here, Rémy."_

_I knew where it should be … I pulled out a large stone from the wall and there was my safe, still intact. I turned the combination on the door and it opened easily. There was my stash of gold, many bags of it, my "stipend" from the Opera managers. Inside were a few other personal items including another of my ceramic masks! I found my old carpet bag under a pile of rubble and I placed the money in it. Through all this the poor child watched me in amazement._

_There were some rooms in the cellar above, so I took Rémy across the lake again and up. I found which rooms on that level had not been broken into. They were used as storage rooms and were locked, but I had a special way into the room, a special door through the wall with a locking/opening mechanism similar to the one I had installed on the mirror in Christine Daaé's dressing room. The Opera managers could change the locks as many times as they wished, but they could not stop my access into any room._

_I found some amusements and books for the child and told him to stay in the room, for he would be safe there. I put on my ceramic mask and I left the room, making my way to the office of the opera managers, by way of a secret passageway behind the walls. I listened and there were voices. I recognized the two managers and a woman...it sounded like Madame Tessier!_

_I listened carefully, but the voices were too muffled through the thick walls and I could not understand. I needed access to the office to make a telephone call to M. du Livey so I could negotiate for my music._

_I wondered what business Mme. Tessier had with the Opera. Perhaps she wanted an audition. She would fail though, without my tutelage! I felt another "slap upon the face" from the good docteur! I decided to come back later. _

_I explored the passageways and the various secret doors, trapdoors and other mechanical conveyances I had installed in the cellars for my own use. It was easy then to get away from those who would pry into my business. Previously, I was caught only a few times unaware, but my appearance frightened them enough to overcome their curiosity and all but the most hardy fled. _

_All my ingenious inventions were intact except for what was in the ruins of what had been my home, the place the newspapers called, "The Phantom's Lair" as if I were an animal. But I went back to that place of devastation to see if I could find anything else of value._

_I dug through the rocks and rubble and found that my violin had been smashed. I was not surprised. But I did find my rapier and happily, my Punjab lasso, which was a formidable weapon in the hands of one skilled in its use, as I am. _

_Then I remembered the child...I wondered how long I had left him alone. I do not carry a watch for it would be useless after the many times I swam the lake. And when in my home, I had no use for carrying a watch; time did not matter, neither did day or night. And I rarely ate or slept when I was working on my music._

_In the past I had the Persian to help me, a man I had met in a far off land, who actually aided me out of friendship, for I had saved his life many years ago. Then there was Madame Giry, the Opera concierge who collected my money for me from the managers, delivered my messages and aided me in many other ways. I had hinted to her that her daughter Meg would marry into royalty and it was this hope, and perhaps fear of me, that kept her my faithful servant._

_Now I had no one to rely on. But I still had ways of obtaining what I needed. I ascended to the room where the ballet girls gathered at lunch time to eat and gossip. They would be in the midst of a rehearsal now. I normally would have suddenly reached in while they were there, turned out the gas light, entered in darkness and done my mischief._

_Now, not wanting to be seen, I made sure no one was in the room and I quickly gathered some food from the luncheon laid out for the ballet girls. I exited through the secret door and just in time, for I heard some of the girls come back in just after I had left._

_I brought the food to my little friend._

"_Monsieur Erik, when can we go home? I am bored and want to play outside."_

"_Rémy, I told you that I have business here. You wanted to come with me...I will find your mother later. Now you must eat."_

"_Will you not share my food?"_

"_I will not, Rémy. Remember, you must not leave this room, or there will be dire consequences!"_

_The child looked very frightened. I put my arm around him. "You will be safe here," I said. "I will be back soon." Rémy still looked disturbed and I could not help but think of my own childhood when I had been frightened and alone nearly all of the time._

"_I shall be back soon," I repeated. I was still wearing the cape and the ceramic mask in case I should be seen. I went back to the Managers' office and listened intently. No one was about, so I went in through my secret door. _


	16. du Livey

_Inside the Managers' Office, I picked up the candlestick telephone and asked to be connected to M. du Livey._

_He answered quickly, with a young man's voice._

"_I understand you are the owner of a trunk of music found at the Paris Opera."_

"_That is correct, Monsieur. And what is your interest in it?"_

"_I wish to make you an offer to purchase it."_

"_Sight unseen, Monsieur?"_

"_No, I must see what I am buying.. When would you be able to meet with me?"_

"_Any time. I am interested in selling the music, but only for a large sum."_

"_That can be arranged. I shall meet you at the Paris Opera tonight just after sunset."_

"_Where shall you be waiting, Monsieur?"_

"_At the north side of the Opera House; stand next to the trees which are planted close to the building. You must wait for me there."_

"_And what name shall I know you by?"_

"_Lenoir. Just Lenoir."_

"_Thank you, Monsieur, I shall see you very soon."_

_I went back to Rémy to reassure him and told him that after my meeting, I would come back to the room for him and find a place where we could stay for the night. Then I would bring him to his mother. I had no idea how I would accomplish this last, but I would consider that later._

_I had to disguise myself so I carefully stole into the prop and costume room near the stage. I could hear the dance rehearsal above me. I found a gypsy costume with head kerchief and a Spanish hat. I found another ceramic mask, depicting "comedy" with the upturned smile, needing something different with which to cover my face._

_I quickly donned the costume, a white satin shirt, black bolero jacket with silver trimming and matching trousers. I put on the black and silver headscarf gypsy style, with the long ends of it on one side, behind my ear and trailing beyond my shoulder. I donned the black hat with its silver hatband, flat crown and wide, flat brim. I did not forget my rapier in its scabbard and I attached the smiling mask to my face. Normally avoiding mirrors for the obvious reason, I glanced in a full length looking glass and thought the effect odd and ludicrous, exactly what I wanted._

_I went to the north side of the building, at street level and waited in a passageway. There was a secret window that could be opened and shut which allowed me to view the street outside without anyone knowing I was watching._

_At the appointed time, a tall, caped and hooded man appeared and stood near the tree. I knew that it was my contact. He carried a small trunk. Interestingly, this man wanted his privacy also. I let him wait as I observed him for a moment. I saw the glint of a sword in a scabbard. He had also come prepared. I wondered why._

_I opened the secret door from within and called, "du Livey?" to get his attention. He looked up and saw the door. I could not see the expression on his face; I could not even get a glimpse, for the hood covered his face partially and the rest was in shadow._

"_Yes," he said. "Lenoir?"_

_I nodded and said, "Come with me," after I had closed the door from the inside. It made no sound but shrouded the passageway in darkness once it had closed. I could see in almost complete darkness, like a cat, but my visitor could not. I lit a small lantern. I told my visitor to walk ahead of me and I guided him through the passageways, down the steps and through a mysterious maze, designed to confuse._

_After rowing through the underground lake, we entered my former home through a series of secret doors. I turned to face my visitor when we had reached the nadir of destruction._

"_I cannot offer you a place of comfort to sit, mais asseyez-vous de toute fa__ç__on, s'il vous plaît – please sit down anyway." He sat on a rock and I did likewise._

"_May I inspect the trunk to see what you have for sale?" I asked._

_The visitor nodded and handed me the trunk, which was closed, but not locked. I opened the box and looked in...it was empty! Rising in anger, I threw the box down so violently that it shattered on the sharp rocks._

"_How dare you, Monsieur!" I cried. "Who are you, that you should play so cruel a trick?"_

_The visitor removed his cloak and threw it to the ground. In spite of myself, I inhaled in surprise._


	17. The Confrontation

_When the stranger pulled off his cloak, I could see his military uniform and sword. I also recognized him as the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, the man who had stolen my Christine, stolen Christine Daaé's heart away from me and subsequently married her._

_Blue-eyed with dark, slicked-back hair, Raoul had a dark moustache and a winning smile. His handsome attractiveness made my ugliness all the more apparent._

"_Are you surprised, Erik?" he said coolly._

_I said nothing._

"_I suspected that you would jump on the chance to get your music back, Erik. When I heard that you were possibly still alive, I needed to protect my Christine and make sure you did not harm her or stalk her again. You see what I need to do, Erik."_

"_How can you be so sure of who I am?"_

"_Who else, Erik? Who would go to so much trouble to conceal his identity but you?"_

"_You are mistaken, Monsieur du Livey. You may take your leave."_

"_No, Erik, it is not so simple. First take off your mask!"_

"_No! I will not!"_

"_Are you afraid? I think you are. You only kill by stealth; you do not step up to a man and challenge him to a fair fight. I think you are a coward!"_

"_Sir, I have warned you! Remove yourself from my abode...at once!" As soon as I said "my abode" I realized I had given myself away._

"_Not until I have seen your face and I have made sure my Christine will forever be safe will I leave this forsaken place!"_

_In anger, I reached for my Punjab lasso, laying within reach and swung it at the Vicomte, who moved backward and drew his sword. I used the lasso to whip the sword from his hand._

"_You are fighting unfairly, Erik...you are proving that you are a coward! Remove your mask and __fight me like a man!_

_I stopped swinging the lasso and stood on a high point, above my opponent. I removed the mask and set it behind me. I put down the lasso and drew my rapier._

"_Pick up your sword, du Chagny! En garde!" _

_I leaped from the rocks and engaged my opponent. We lunged and parried all about the cavernous room jumping up and leaping down from the huge rocks and stones that littered the floor everywhere._

_I could have disappeared and gotten away in many numerous ways, but my anger against my opponent burned in my breast so much that I could not let up. And I would not be called a coward...least of all by this nobleman who had stolen my Christine's heart!_

_I felt du Chagny would not let up either, for it seemed he had come here to kill me..._

_And yet...I had always thought Raoul du Chagny an honorable man with morals quite above mine. I felt he, indeed the vast majority of people, had no idea what it was like for me, having to live by my wits and baser instincts. I was not sure he had the will to kill me..._

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, in the locked room several floors above the Phantom's lair, Rémy Tessier was beginning to be afraid. He wondered where his friend was. He wanted his mother desperately...he had not missed her much until he was left alone, for the excitement of sharing an adventure with Erik had pushed thoughts of his mother aside. He had expected to find her in Paris as soon as they had arrived, but that had not happened.<p>

Rémy tried the door of the storage room but it was locked. The other way, the way that Erik appeared through the wall, he could not find a mechanism to open the secret door. He sat on the floor crosslegged and played with a few toys that he had found in an ancient chest in the corner. He spun a top over and over, then played with some wooden toys.

Suddenly, he heard a key turn in the lock. He ran to hide behind some dusty costumes. It would not be Erik; he would come in through the secret door. Rémy heard someone open the door, then pause.

"Is someone here?" called a woman's voice. "I know someone must be here...the gas light is turned on..."

Rémy shivered with a bit of fear. He did not recognize the woman's voice and he knew no one here except Erik. The dust finally overcame the child and he sneezed violently and loudly.

"Who is there?" cried the woman. She sounded alarmed. She pulled aside the dusty costumes and found the boy holding onto a woman's costume skirt and trying to hide behind it.

"I see you, little man. Come out, it is dusty back there..."

The woman looked friendly and her smile was lovely. Her brown hair was very curly and fell over her shoulders. She wore a long, simple but elegant dress. She was young, younger than his mother. She coaxed Rémy from his hiding place and drew him out by the hand.

She brought him to the dusty settee in the corner and sat down.

"Tell me who you are..."

"You tell me first..." said Rémy.

"Très bien...Je m'appelle Christine Daaé. I work here at the Opera."

Rémy's eyes opened wide. "Do you sing?"

"Oui, I do," replied the smiling young woman. "And now, what is your name, young man?"

"I am Rémy Tessier."

"How did you come to be hiding in this locked room?"

Rémy looked down. He did not want to lie, but he could not betray Erik's trust either.

"I cannot say."

"You cannot or will not?"

"I will not," said the child with conviction. He was so solemn that Christine smiled.

"Then I shall not ask you further. Do you have a family, though, if I may ask? This is not a place for a child alone..."

"I am waiting for my friend...and my mother is in Paris. I am to meet her soon."

"When and where?"

"I do not know."

"All right," said Christine.

"How did you know I was here?"

"I did not. I was passing by and saw the light from under the door and opened it to investigate. I asked the managers for keys after I was locked in a room here once, a while ago. I could not get out and was very frightened. I told them I would only come back to sing if they gave me keys...I am sorry. You are not interested in this, Rémy, are you? Have you had dinner? I am waiting for my husband who seems to be overdue."

"No, I must not leave here," said Rémy, who did not want to miss Erik when he returned. Rémy also was afraid that if he were heard speaking with someone, Erik would hear him and become angry.

"Then I shall bring something here and we shall dine together," said the young woman. She left through the door which she left unlocked.

She returned in a short time with a meal and the two ate dinner. Rémy ate little, for he was still worried about whether Erik would return and he wondered how he would ever find his mother.


	18. No One Wins

Meanwhile, Erik and Raoul de Chagny were still fighting. It had been several hours and still neither would back down. Erik could feel his strength finally ebbing. He had much stamina, but Raoul had more, for he was, after all, twenty-five years younger. But finally, Erik had Raoul trapped against the wall. He flung Raoul's épée from his opponent's hand with his own rapier and pointed the sword at Raoul's heart.

Erik toyed with his opponent. "One centimetre, mon ami, one centimetre and your lovely Christine shall be a widow..."

"You know that if you should kill me, Erik, that Christine still could never love you...but go ahead and break her heart again..."

Erik moved his sword quickly and, with a slash, cut through the Vicomte's shirt to the flesh beneath. Many of his buttons were cut off and bounced everywhere. Raoul put his hand to his chest and blood seeped out through his fingers and onto his torn shirt. The pain started in a moment and he staggered backward to the wall.

Erik backed off, his rapier still in his hand. He sat down on one of the rocks, his head down. "Du Chagny, you know that if it were not for the lovely Christine, you would not be still breathing. Why did you come here?"

Raoul was holding his shirt against the wounds on his chest. He was starting to breathe a bit heavily. "Erik," said Raoul. "I brought you here to bring an end to the nightmare that you have caused my wife."

"Nightmare?" asked Erik.

"She constantly fears that you are stalking her. I promised her I would take care of you once and for all..."

"So you lured me here to kill me..."

"I cannot do it, Erik. I cannot even kill a monster like you..."

"A monster...that is what everyone thinks that I am..."

"Well are you not? And I am not speaking of your face; I am speaking of the horrendous crimes you have committed...blackmail, thievery, lying, cheating, kidnapping and murder...how can you say you are not a monster?"

Erik stared at the sword in his hand and ran his fingers along the sharp blade ominously. "That is easy for you to say from your high and mighty stance, Monsieur le Vicomte! You who are handsome and able to claim the heart of anyone, you stole away from me the only hope of love I ever had..."

"Erik, she was never yours...did you not know that Christine and I were acquainted as children?"

Erik looked up suddenly in distress. "The child...I have forgotten him..."

"What are you talking about?"

"I brought a child with me to the Opera House today...he is locked in a room upstairs..."

"What? You have kidnapped a child?"

"No, it's not what it seems..." Erik started for the exit to the staircase.

Raoul picked up his sword and ran after Erik, clutching his chest, getting a second wind, although the wounds were throbbing. Raoul was exhausted from the earlier and very lengthy sword fight. He reached the doorway before Erik and with his last strength, pushed his also-exhausted opponent against the wall, pointing his épée at Erik.

"You shall not go up there!" said Raoul breathlessly, as his strength slowly ebbed.

"You are insane...Let me go!"

"Never! Christine is waiting for me and I will not have her see you!"

The thought of seeing Christine gave Erik new strength and he suddenly tried to kick the sword from Raoul's hand, but it was a bad move. As Erik kicked Raoul's arm, the younger man, in his exhaustion, inadvertently plunged the sword into the Opera Ghost's chest.

With a look of surprise and pain, Erik fell to a sitting position, next to the wall. Raoul had lost more blood than he thought and he fell to the floor unconscious. Erik was able to pull the sword out, then he too fell into a swoon.

* * *

><p>All this time, Christine and Rémy were waiting for their respective companions to return.<p>

"Rémy," said Christine. "It must be midnight. I will be but a moment. I must look for my husband."

"You will not leave me here alone..."

"I must, but it shall just be for a moment..."

* * *

><p>Christine Daaé, after having escaped from the Phantom's Lair a year ago, and marrying the Vicomte de Chagny, had at first retired from singing at the Opera. But her love of music and opera was such that, once she was sure that Erik had been drowned in the Seine by the rabble, she felt safe in coming back. She persuaded Raoul to let her sing again, and he acquiesced. She was welcomed back and her beautiful voice rang out in many an opera.<p>

That afternoon, after Erik's call, Raoul had told Christine that he was meeting with Erik in the Phantom's quarters beneath the Opera. Since she had been at the Opera that evening for a short rehearsal, Raoul said he would meet her afterward.

Raoul explained to Christine that he would negotiate a truce with Erik so he would never bother them again. Ever since the first rumours had surfaced that the Phantom had been spotted again, Christine had had nightmares that went back to her kidnapping. She had tried to talk Raoul out of luring the Ghost back to his lair, but to no avail. Now, her rehearsal over hours ago, Christine wondered why it was taking Raoul so long to return.

Christine made her way down to the Phantom's lair with trepidation, but she could do nothing else. She knew a back way that Erik had taken her once and it avoided the lake altogether. When she reached the lower levels, horrific memories came flooding back, but she shook them off. She must be brave for Raoul.

With no resistance, Christine entered the Phantom's former quarters. She could barely recognize the place, for all of the devastation. Several walls had even been torn down making the area one huge cavern. It was lit with burning torches on the walls although a few of the gas lights dimly shed a ghostly glow. Christine walked over the perilous stones, and when she was at the apex of the room, she suddenly saw them...two prone figures laying near the wall, one clad in black, the other in white.

She ran to the two men, her heart pounding. Erik was sitting against the wall, his white satin shirt stained, his head fallen back against the stone. Raoul had fallen face down on the stone floor. Christine heard Raoul groan as she approached, so at least he was still alive. She carefully moved Raoul onto his back and saw the ripped and bloodied shirt.

"Oh no!" she cried. "Raoul, Raoul, are you all right?"

At the sound of her voice, Raoul's eyes fluttered. "Oui, my dear..." he tried to sit up but he groaned again. "I had a bit of a trying night, but ..." he said. Christine helped Raoul sit up, his back against a rock. She picked up his sword for him.

Christine glanced over at Erik. "What happened, Raoul... Is he..."

"I do not think so, Christine." Raoul looked over at his opponent, thinking that they could just leave the man here to die and make an end to their troubles...but that would not be the honourable thing to do...

"Let me take a look," said Christine, and she approached the man with the ghastly face.

When she came closer to her former captor, Christine could see that Erik's breathing was laboured. She did not wish to touch him to take his pulse. "He needs a docteur, Raoul, as you do. I will find someone to help..."

"No, Christine, I will go..."

"You are in no shape to leave here, my darling, and I would rather not stay alone with..." she indicated Erik with a nod of her head.

"Oui, je comprends. Go then, but be careful and hurry back."

Knowing the only telephone at the Opera to be in the locked and inaccessible managers' office, she ran across the street to the hotel.

Christine approached the desk clerk and asked if the hotel had a house doctor. A woman sitting nearby, reading a newspaper in the lobby, spoke up.

"I am a docteur, may I be of some service?"


	19. A Reunion of Sorts

Christine turned and a tall, blonde woman in her mid thirties approached her.

"I am Émilie Tessier, un médecin..."

"Oh Docteur, come quickly, there has been an accident...in the Opera House..." The two women ran across the street and into the opera house through the door leading to the cellars which Christine had wedged open as she left.

The gas lights lent a flickering yellow aura to the darkness of the opera house interior. Christine led the way to the underground, racing down the steps to the lowest level, rowing across the lake and to the house which had been her prison and Raoul's less than a year ago.

"What happened, Madame?" asked Émilie of the young woman as they rowed across the lake.

"There has been an accident and my husband is hurt, I don't know how badly...there is another man who seems to be unconscious."

As they were about to enter the large ruined, cavernous room, Christine stopped momentarily and touched her companion on the arm.

"Madame, so you will be prepared, the other man who has been hurt is quite horrendous to look upon..."

Émilie frowned. "I shall take heed, Madame."

They entered the room and ran to the two wounded men. Raoul looked as if he were feeling better. He had laid Erik flat on the floor, with a torn velvet curtain beneath his head. He had opened Erik's satin shirt and pulled off the gypsy headscarf from Erik's head and was holding it on his opponent's chest to stop the bleeding.

Émilie said, "Erik?" as she ran to him... "Erik, can you hear me?" She looked at the wound. "We must take him from this filthy place to somewhere he can rest. I must treat him with with something to keep infection away..." I will also have to sew up his wound... I do not have these things...I must purchase them from a chemist..." She stopped, realizing that both Christine and Raoul were staring at her.

"You know him?" asked Raoul.

"Yes, he has been my house guest for some time...I will tell you later." She glanced at Raoul. "You, Monsieur, need some medical attention also..."

"Non, Madame," said Raoul, still clutching his chest, and looking a bit pale. "There is no pain anymore...it is only a flesh wound..."

Émilie gave him a sceptical look. "Et bien, Monsieur..." She paused. "Is there a room in the Opera with a bed where I may take him?"

"Oui," spoke up Christine. "I know of a place, but we will have to carry him...it is several storeys above..."

"Then that is what we must do. Can you carry him, Raoul, with our help? I do not want to disturb his wound any more than necessary."

"Oui," smiled the young man. "Mine is just a flesh wound," he repeated. "...I am all right."

Raoul picked up Erik under the arms and Christine and Émilie supported his back and legs. They carried him up seven flights to a floor above the stage where there were bedrooms occupied by the managers or guests when they had to stay at the Opera overnight. But all the doors were locked.

"How are we going to get in?" asked Raoul, as they laid Erik on the floor temporarily.

"I do not know...but there must be a secret way in."said Christine. "Erik can get in and out of these rooms with no trouble..."

Émilie knelt down beside Erik. She shook him gently. "Erik...can you hear me? It's Émilie … we must get into one of these rooms and we don't have a key...help us, please!"

His eyes slowly opened and he looked at her, not comprehending where he was or what was happening.

"Erik," pleaded Émilie, "Tell us how to get into the rooms...please!"

Erik suddenly realized, through the fog of his pain, that Christine was there. "Christine! You have come back to me..." he said in a thin, quiet voice. He reached up to her. She took his hand as a gesture of charity.

He realized that Raoul was also there and so was Émilie. And he began to remember the events that transpired in the 5th cellar. "Have you come to say adieu before I die?"

"Erik, there is but a little time...you must tell us how to get into the rooms..."

Erik described the latch for this particular room which opened a secret door. They took him in and laid him on the bed.

"It is far into the morning, but I must get medicine for M. Lenoir. I shall have to find and wake a chemist..." Christine knew where the chemist shop was and the two went together, leaving Raoul with Erik. Émilie told Raoul to continue to hold the cloth on Erik's chest to stop the bleeding.

"Now fully awake and aware of his pain, Erik said in a slow, quiet voice, "I have again forgotten the boy, Rémy.. Il est le fils de Docteur Tessier...Bring him to me..."

"The boy you kidnapped?"

"I told you I did not kidnap him! Bring him to me at once!" His voice was whispered and slow, but menacing. Erik stared at Raoul with his strange yellow eyes, and the young man had no choice but to obey.

"Where is he?"

Erik described the room the child was in and told the young man what the boy's name was. "And find another shirt so you do not frighten the child with your wound!" hissed Erik.

Raoul went to the room; the door was open and the child was sleeping on a pile of costumes on the floor. He woke the boy gently.

"Who are you?" asked Rémy, sleepily. "Where is Erik...why has he not come?"

"He has been hurt, Rémy...he wants you to come to him...let me take you...I am Christine's husband, Raoul."

"Oh, then I will go with you. I like Christine. She is very nice!" The boy followed Raoul to the room below where Erik was. Erik had pulled the covers on the bed up to his shoulders, so Rémy would not view his wound either. Erik was breathing heavily and in a lot of pain, but he smiled when he saw the boy.

"Monsieur Erik! You are hurt!" The boy knelt at Erik's bedside and held one of Erik's cold skeletal hands in his small warm ones.

"Your mother is here, Rémy, She is getting some medicine for me now."

"Maman est ici?" asked the boy. Erik nodded.

Raoul looked on in amazement. After the evening's fight with Erik, and the previous horrors the Phantom had put Christine and himself through, he had thought the man despicable. But here he was showing a kind and gentle side of his personality, a side Raoul did not think that he possessed. It was as if he were another person. And he must have been kind to the child earlier or Rémy would not have shown such devotion to the man.

Erik slowly drifted off into unconsciousness again, but Rémy faithfully stayed by his side. Émilie returned a bit later with the supplies she needed. She almost dropped them when she saw her son sitting at Erik's bedside. The boy ran to her, she bent over and hugged him.

"Rémy! Whatever are you doing here?"

"I came with Erik to Paris! We were going to have a good time, but now he is hurt..."

"Yes, I know, Rémy. Émilie paused, then said carefully, "Did he force you to come with him?"

"Oh, non, non, Maman, I begged Monsieur Erik to go with him... He said he was going to Paris and I wanted to come along. I knew you were here. He said no at first, then changed his mind."

"Rémy, that was very bad of you to beg Monsieur Erik to go with him!" said Émilie sternly. She administered some drops of laudanum sub-lingually for pain. She cleaned Erik's wound thoroughly and stitched it, after determining that the wound was not as deep as it first appeared and had amazingly pierced no vital organs. He had lost a lot of blood and was in shock. To replace the fluids, Dr Tessier administered normal saline solution subcutaneously. She asked Rémy to leave the room during this procedure, but he did not want to leave.

Émilie smiled at her son. "You will be un médecin aussi, some day, mon fils..." She finished by affixing clean bandages about the wound.

She then turned to Raoul, who was sitting patiently by, Christine's arm around him, watching Dr Tessier. "Now it is your turn, Monsieur,"she said with a smile.

"I am all right. I have no need of a physician..."

"I must at least clean the wound," said Émelie.

"I do not think it proper for a woman to..." said the Vicomte.

"I took care of Monsieur Lenoir..."

"That is different."

"How is it different?"

"He is a …..well..."

Émelie sighed. "Madame du Chagny, will you wash it for him so the wound does not become infected?" The girl nodded.

"Are you in any pain, Monsieur?" asked Émilie.

"Not any to speak of...it is quite superficial."

Émelie handed the nobleman and his wife a clean towel and a bar of soap. "Go, now!" Raoul obeyed this time.


	20. Closer to the Truth

Christine and Raoul had planned to leave early the next morning. Christine wanted to go before Erik awoke, but Dr Tessier told her that Erik was already awake and was asking for her.

"I do not want to see him again, Madame."

"He is very ill, Christine. It would be kind of you to see him...I think he has something to say to you..."

Christine paused and bit her lip. She took a deep breath. "All right. But just for a moment..."

Christine entered the room with Dr Tessier. Christine sat in a chair at the side of the bed and took Erik's hand in hers. At her touch, he opened his eyes and smiled.

"Erik, I have come to say good-bye. And I must tell you that it was not my idea for Raoul to come here and try to kill you...I do not know what strangeness came over him..."

"You did not want to see me killed?"

"Certainly not by Raoul..." She paused. "I did not mean it like that...I just want to be reassured that you will not follow me or stalk me anywhere, ever. Raoul felt he had to find you because of my nightmares and sleepwalking..."

"When I make a promise, I shall keep it, Christine...especially to you..," he whispered. "I shall not hurt you or follow you any more. I have made my peace with the Vicomte also..."

Christine bent over and gave Erik a kiss on the forehead. She squeezed his hand gently, then whispered good-bye. He watched her leave the room and his eyes became wet.

* * *

><p>Outside the door, Raoul waited. When Christine came out, she was wiping her eyes. The docteur followed her.<p>

"What is it, Christine, my darling, are you weeping? Did he say something hurtful? If he did, ill or not, I shall..." Christine stopped him with a smile and a touch of her hand on his arm.

"No, Raoul, he was very polite. He has promised to stay away from me."

"It is true, Monsieur du Chagny," said Émelie. "He did promise..."

"And you believe him? Then why are you crying, my darling?"

Christine looked dubious. "I...I am not sure...I think that I feel pity for him..."

Raoul addressed the doctor. "Christine and I have been talking...we will be leaving the country shortly for America. We have been thinking of settling there..."

"Are you thinking of giving up your career in music, Madame du Chagny?" asked Émelie.

"No, Docteur," answered Christine. "It is just that, with what happened in the year past, I would prefer to sing elsewhere...preferably far away..."

"I have arranged for Christine to tour with an opera company."

"Yes, I am quite excited!" said Christine. "We will be leaving shortly." She paused and took Émelie's hand. "Madame Tessier, I must thank you for taking care of Erik and allowing him to stay at your home...he has no one, you know," she said, a touch of emotion in her voice.

"Yes, I understand," said Émelie, wondering if the girl _did _have some emotional attachment to Erik after all...her eyes had softened when she spoke his name...

* * *

><p><em>I have excellent hearing, and the door was not closed completely. I heard every word uttered by my beloved Christine, the good docteur and the honourable Vicomte. The throbbing of my wounded chest was painful, but the bitterness of the loss of Christine was worse than any physical pain. She felt only pity for me. I closed my eyes. If my angel were departing for America, I likely would never gaze upon her lovely face again...<em>

* * *

><p>Émelie and Rémy stayed three weeks at the Opera house with Erik until he felt better.<p>

Then the following day, Rémy ran into his mother's room, next to Erik's room and stated, "Maman, Monsieur Erik is going to leave!"

Émelie knocked at the door, then entered. "Erik, what are you doing?" she demanded.

Erik was buttoning his collar and red waistcoat and tying his matching bow tie. "How would _you_ describe it, Madame? I have just finished dressing." He put on his black tailcoat.

"Where are you going?"

"Since le Vicomte de Chagny did not really have my music, I am going to the 5th cellar look for it."

"I would advise you not to do anything that will make your stitches come apart..."

Erik gave her a disdainful look. "If I should need your advice, Madame, I shall ask for it."

"I was about to invite you to stay at our home again..."

"I cannot go back there..."

Émelie sighed. "Very well, Rémy and I will be going back home then very soon. You may do as you wish." She turned to leave.

"Wait, Émelie..." said Erik. "Has no one explained the whole story to you?"

"Which story is that?" said Émelie.

"Do you not know why I left your home?"

"No..."

"Your servants conspired to kill me."

"Erik, what are you talking about?"

"Jacques et Marie, they saw my face and determined I was a monster that had to be killed. They locked me in my room. I would have succumbed to some dire fate except for Nicole, the cook. She helped me escape..."

Émelie sat down on a chair, in a daze. She did not know whether to believe him or not. She looked up. "Continue, please, Erik..."

"I hid in the churchyard until it was dark, but before that, Rémy found me. I had planned to send him home just before I left for Paris, after dark. But les gendarmes had been called and were looking for me. I started to wonder if the child would be safe with your murderous servants. I decided to take him with me as he asked. I did not, however, kidnap him. We took the train to Paris and I had him wait for me in a locked room so he would be safe."

"I then met M. du Livey who said he had found my music. I was anxious to negotiate for the music, but as it turned out, M. du Livey did not exist, except in the form of the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny. He did not have my music and by his own words, he had come to kill me. He had wanted to lure me here so badly that he paid the managers for my music which he told them he had found. This was to generate the newspaper story to lure me here. He knew I would want the music back and come here to meet him."

"The Vicomte challenged me to a duel and we fought for several hours. I wounded him only slightly, and he also wounded me, perhaps by accident, perhaps not. It is at that point that you found us."

"Erik, I have long suspected that you might be the notorious Opera Ghost, but I have yet to hear it from your own lips..."

Erik paused, then looked at her directly. "Yes, Émelie, I am he whom they call the "Opera Ghost."

"But why, Erik? Why?"

"I...I have no wish to explain..."

"And Christine was the singer that you kidnapped?"

"Yes...I had hoped she would love me...I was but a fool..."

"Erik, everyone has hopes and dreams that don't come true..."

"Émelie, do NOT psycho analyze me!" He punctuated his angry words with a fierce slap of his hand on the table, but then clutched his chest and groaned.

"The wound is still far from being healed, Erik...do not pull your stitches out!"

"Émelie, I am disappointed in you..."

"What are you talking about?"

"I read your physician's notes about me...

"What about them?"

"You classify me in the same category as the bizarre human aberrations, the side-show oddities...you see me only as a monstrosity, just like everyone else does. I thought you were above that..."

"Erik, sit down. Did you take the medications I prescribed for you today?"

"Oui, mais I have been wanting to ask you what they are for?"

"One is for the pain; the other to calm you. You tend to get yourself into a state of anxiety and paranoia which then escalates and..."

"You are doing it again..."

"Oui, but you are not becoming so anxious and paranoid, are you?"

Erik was silent.

"I have never heard you speak this calmly to me about something that is upsetting you. I believe the sedative is working...you are more relaxed, am I not correct?"

"Oui..."

"Erik, please listen. I have studied psychology to understand people and see how I can help them. I have done case studies of some of the people you mentioned to find out how they dealt with life..."

"I do not wish to speak about this any more. I want to look for my music and then I shall be on my way."

"Where will you go?"

"I have no idea at the present moment..." Erik paused. "What are you planning to do about your murderous servants when you return home?"

"I shall certainly dismiss them. I had no idea they were of such low moral character..."

Erik laughed. "If les Gagnons are not at your home, perhaps I will come back and stay with you for a time. But I must look for the music..."

"Rémy and I will help you look, Erik. As I said, I do not want you to tear the stitches."

"Very well. I must tell you, I have felt quite normal being with the boy; he does not treat me as a monster..." he looked at Émelie and his yellow eyes softened. "Your psycho-analyzation of me makes me think you saw me as nothing more than a deformed monster...but..." and here he paused, "you have always treated me with respect...I thank you for that..." He reached out his arm and took her small hand in his, wrapping his long skeletal fingers around it. She did not flinch, but squeezed his fingers in a gesture of friendship.

"I will find Rémy and we will help you look for the music..."


	21. Inspector Étienne Langlois

Dr Tessier rented a carriage and driver to take them back directly to the house. The trio left late at night, under cover of darkness. Erik wore his ceramic mask, which, because of the painted eyes and eyebrows, lent a serene look to his countenance. Erik went peaceably enough back to the Tessier home.

Earlier at the Opera House 5th cellar, in his former home, Erik had found that the large box where he kept the music had been smashed to pieces, but the music was mostly intact.

When they arrived, they found that the Gagnons had already fled. Nicole was alone in the house and she was very glad to see the docteur and her son and she was no longer terrified of the house guest, who now was able to keep his mask off inside the house. He paid her every sou that she had lent him before he had fled, and added a considerable amount, for she had saved his life. He offered Émilie money for room and board and all the medical attention she had paid him.

Life resumed almost where it had left off before Émilie's departure. Nicole took over as not only cook, but maid also. Erik recovered quickly from his wound and soon had very little pain from it most of the time. Erik and Émilie tutored Rémy, with Erik taking over the boy's musical and artistic education. He started interesting the boy in architecture and also continued teaching him sleight of hand tricks and illusions, including what some considered the "black art" of ventriloquism.

Émilie had few patients so she could spend a considerable amount of time with her son. Erik started again to persuade Émilie to let him train her voice. She finally gave in.

* * *

><p>One day, as Émilie was finishing work in the surgery, a man entered and asked for a moment of her time. He was dressed nicely, had a pleasant manner and was dark and handsome, with intelligent looking dark eyes.<p>

"Oui, Monsieur, may I help you?" asked Émilie.

"Oui, Madame, that you may. You are the nurse?"

Dr Tessier smiled. "Non, Monsieur, I am le médecin...Dr Tessier... how may I help you?"

"Je suis désolé, Docteur, my mistake...I am Inspector Étienne Langlois...I am looking for a certain person who has committed many crimes and I wish to find him to bring him to justice."

"Who is this person, Inspector?"

"He has no name other than "Erik" and he was considered dead after a raging rabble threw him in the Seine. It happened not far from the Paris Opera House. However, he has reportedly been seen since that time, so he must have escaped somehow."

"I see," said Émilie, noncommitally. I am a distance from Paris, I would have been unlikely to have seen such a person."

"Perhaps he could be one of your patients? Someone who was hurt escaping from a crowd bent on killing him?"

"I would not think so...but tell me more, Monsieur. Please, sit down." She gestured at a chair across from her desk.

"If you had seen his face, you would not forget him, Docteur. He is said to have a horrible face with burning eyes..."

Émilie laughed. "He sounds like some type of fictional monster..."

"Do not laugh, Docteur. I have not seen him, but have interviewed many who have. He is terrifying."

"I see. And what has this terrifying person done?"

"It seems that he escaped from an insane asylum some years ago, where he had been confined for some time. He killed a guard and made his escape. They say he is very wily and as mad as a hatter.*"

"Is he crazy enough to have committed crimes?" asked Émilie, starting to have an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Oui, certainment. I understand he secretly lived at the Paris Opera House. It has been just over a year now, perhaps a bit less, that the strange events at the Opera House ended. But before that, havoc reigned as this person blackmailed, kidnapped, frightened and even killed several people."

"So why are you coming to me with this information, Monsieur Langlois?"

"Because I have information, actually a signed statement, from two people who definitely identified this person as a guest in your home."

"Who, may I ask, signed this statement?"

Langlois opened the paper. "Oui, here it is...Monsieur Jacques Gagnon and his wife, Marie."

Émilie scanned the paper and looked at the signatures of the two servants who had fled while she had been in Paris.

She looked up and smiled at the Inspector. "These people must be mistaken about a criminal, and an insane one at that, staying at my home." She handed the paper back to Langlois.

"I understand the Gagnons worked for you for quite some time. Why would you feel they were mistaken?"

"They created some havoc at my home and I was about to dismiss them when I returned, but they had already fled. They had lost track of my child while I was gone and did not inform me of that fact, ultimately leaving my son to his fate, for all they knew. Luckily a kindly person found and took care of him."

"I see. This is not the story they told me..."

Émilie stood up. "Monsieur, I could not have even thought of sheltering a criminal with my young son at home. My former servants are surely mistaken."

Langlois was persistent. "Madame Docteur, I hardly think that these two good people would make up such a story...why they told me horrendous details..."

"Indeed," said Émilie icily. "I shall keep my eyes open for such a person and call you at once if I should encounter this dreadful criminal. Do you have an address at which you can be reached?"

"Oui," said the inspector and handed her his card. He bowed slightly and took his leave. Émilie locked the door to the surgery then sat at her desk leaning her forehead on her palm.

* * *

><p><strong>*The expression "mad as a hatter" comes from the hat industry of the 1800's when small amounts of mercury was used in the hat making process. The workers who made the hats (hatters) often got dementia from the constant exposure to mercury.<strong>


	22. Erik's Story

Émilie was still sitting at her desk, thinking about what the inspector had said. She heard a knock from behind, the door that led to the living quarters.

"Come in," said Émilie.

It was Erik. He opened the door and sat down in the chair recently vacated by the police inspector.

"I heard everything..." he said.

"Erik, is that allegation true...that you are an escapee from an insane asylum?"

He paused and looked at her intensely with his yellow eyes. But she felt no hint of mesmerism, he only looked sad.

"Oui, it is true." He paused again. "I would rather not explain..."

"Perhaps if you did, I would be persuaded not to turn you in to the police. I have just lied for you, Erik. It did not feel good. But I must know the truth..."

"I do not speak about my past, Émilie..."

"You must, for your own sake, Erik..."

He paused for some time, seemingly trying to make up his mind about what to say.

"As I said, I do not speak about my past. But I have put you in a strange position...I thank you for not turning me in...and you are correct, you do deserve an explanation."

"Et bien..." He closed his eyes and turned away from Émilie. "I will start at the beginning. I have always looked like this...I was born this way. My mother was very beautiful and of a noble family. She could not bear the sight of me. I was a hideous blot on the family. My face must have driven her to madness, for she beat me unbearably I was barely twelve years old when ran away from home to escape the horror."

"I soon stumbled upon a circus. The sideshow held interest for me, for there were many strange people...oddities of humanity...I saw that they were making money exhibiting themselves. I approached the owner of the sideshow and asked if I could join."

Erik continued. "My mother had always required that I wear a mask at home, for no one wanted to see my face. I was still wearing it. The sideshow owner asked what I had to offer. I whipped off my mask and glared at him. He stared at me, then laughed. 'You will make a fine exhibit!' he said."

"I thought finally I would be in a place where I would be safe. Most of the others on exhibit were friendly to me, for in our singular strangenesses, we all had something in common. But the people that came to see us especially hated me. I was exhibited as the "Living Skeleton" and they thought I was particularly disgusting. They jeered at me and threw things, but the worst of all was the sideshow owner, who treated me and the others despicably. However, I was the one that got most of the bad treatment. I still have scars..."

"I was with the show for five years. Most of the other performers were fair to me, at least tolerant, and the magician in particular, thought I had talent and helped me put together a show. I made my act creative and entertaining, as I performed magic and sleight of hand. I became a master of illusion. But I finally understood that the crowds came not to see my act, but to gaze upon my ugly face. And the bad treatment continued. At age 17, I had tired of it. I decided one night to take my leave of the circus and find work elsewhere."

"I was leaving when I came upon the side-show owner. He tried to stop me and we fought. I was younger and stronger and I hurt him badly. As he fell, other performers ran up to us... then one of them said, 'He is dead, Erik!' I stood in shock, unable to move, not knowing what to do. Then several of the performers yelled at me to run, knowing it had been self defense."

"I ran and hid for weeks, and when my money was gone, I would steal whatever I could. Finally one day I was caught stealing food and les gendarmes were called. They questioned me, but without a trial came to the conclusion that I was the criminal who killed the sideshow owner. They also came to the conclusion that because of my face, I was hopelessly insane and they sent me to the asylum."

"The conditions there were worse than the sideshow, at least in the circus I could let some of my creativity out, but in the asylum, we were tied down if we raised our voices and were mistreated constantly. I could not stand it any more and devised a plan of escape. In the dark of night, I actually made my escape, unfortunately killing a guard who was in my way. I stowed away on a ship that very night and left the country."

"For some years I worked as an architect in foreign lands. I studied under a kindly master who did not question the mask, but saw my talent. I discovered that the skill and art of architecture was born in me and I simply understood it. Those were happy years when I could let my imagination create wonderful architectural works of art. Not many questioned the mask, for at the time I wore the ceramic mask that you had earlier seen. It made me appear calm and serene. I could wear the mask out in the open when dealing with my clients, for as an artist, I could be expected to be eccentric. I also wrote much music, opera and classical. But I had not as yet found anyone who could conduct and perform my music as I intended."

"When I returned to Paris, years later, I procured the position of architect for the Paris Opera House. I built a home for myself far below the Opera, unknown to all and I kept the lower regions a secret to all but two persons who were charitable enough,or frightened enough of me, to help me."

Erik raised his eyes and looked at Émilie. "The one thing my mother did for me, before she went mad, was bring tutors in to give me an excellent education. I am well educated in many subjects and as I mentioned before, I was classically trained in music and it has always come easily to me..."

Émilie reached across the desk and took his hand in hers. "Erik, I'm sorry to make you tell me and relive all of that, but I must know what the circumstances were..."

He turned slowly to face her. "And what if I am telling a bizarre, fabricated story, Émilie? What if I _am_ insane?"

"I am telling you bluntly, I do not believe you to be insane, however, you have some serious psychological problems..."

"I see," he said icily. He paused, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "Perhaps I should be on my way, in any case. The Inspector apparently believes I am here. That endangers you and the child."

"Erik, where could you go? Where is a place safer than my home?"

"I am a virtual prisoner, Émilie. I cannot walk outside of your home unless it would be at night..." He paused. "Perhaps I shall go back to the Middle East. As I said, I was there for many years."

"I have come to the conclusion, Erik, that you are much less emotional and more rational when you are taking the medicine I am giving you...have you not noticed a change in your attitude?"

"I am afraid I have not. I do not care to take medicine unless it is for a short time and then only if it is absolutely necessary."

"Erik, I deem it necessary. You are on the edge of anger and irrational acts sometimes..."

Erik's eyes flashed and his voice took on an angry tone. "I am NOT irrational!" he said ,hitting the table with his fist for emphasis. He stood up and left the room, slamming the door. Émilie sighed. His moods seemed irrational even with the medication.


	23. Adieu

_I left two days after discovering that the police were on my trail again. I had to leave under cover of darkness, lest they should see me. I suspected there was a dragnet looking for me. I would have to be extremely careful._

_I was angry with Dr Tessier for considering me irrational. When I calmed down, I realized that she was a physician and they are trained to think that way. How could she judge me? However, I felt she meant me no harm. She had heard my story, seen my face and she had sheltered me and even lied to the police to protect me. _

_I knew my best escape would be to leave the country. I would consider my choices later._

_I said adieu to my little friend, Rémy, with whom I had enjoyed some of the best days of my life. I explained that I was in danger again and must leave. He pleaded with me to stay and I promised if I could, I would see him again._

_I left that night after Rémy had gone to bed. I had just touched the door knob when I felt Émilie's hand on my arm. I turned and she smiled at me._

"_Erik, please take care of yourself. And take your medication."_

"_Of course, my dear," I said. We embraced. I was overwhelmed when I realized that her friendship was as true as Rémy's. I did not want to let her go, but finally I did._

"_Would you allow me to kiss your hand, dear lady?" I asked, with emotion. She nodded and smiled. I kissed her lovely hand, then turned and fled, my cape billowing behind me in the breeze._

* * *

><p>Émilie found the medication she had made up for Erik thrown into the dustbin. From the quantity, it looked as if he had only taken the first few doses she had personally doled out to him. She sighed.<p>

* * *

><p>Five years later, Rémy, now a young teen, rushed in the house with the Paris newspaper.<p>

"Maman! Look at this article..."

Émilie took the paper and looked at the headline of the small article buried on the second page of the paper. It read: "Newly Built Opera House: Haunted?" The article went on to say that the new, exquisitely beautiful opera house, recently completed in a large city in America, had been designed by a mysterious but talented architect. However, immediately upon opening, the building began to be the setting for some odd, strange occurrences, which made the general public call it "haunted."

It was five years to the day since Erik Lenoir had left to seek his fortune in a foreign land...

THE END


End file.
